EOAM: One-shots
by reenas-as
Summary: They had to tell her friends eventually. It was all a matter of time and place. But then, there never is a good time to tell your vampire-hunting friends that you're dating the master vampire who earned his rank killing your predecessors. Yeah . . . really not.
1. Coming Out

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Coming Out:

They decided it would be best to break the news to Buffy's friends as soon as possible, though they agreed they should wait to tell Giles for the time being. They also decided it was something they had to do together, and in a public place. It made Buffy feel very grown up, making the decision together. Like Spike saw her as an equal. Which he did. And for a moment she was intensely grateful (even more so than usual) that she was with Spike and not Angel. Angel never let her take part in the decision making, he always told her what he had decided and then guilted her into agreeing. Jerk.

Luckily for them the Scoobies happened to already have a favorite haunt that was very public. Which was why Friday night found Buffy making her way to _the Bronze_ with a platinum haired vampire in tow.

And in serious danger of losing her lunch all over her awesome new shoes.

Spike's hand came to rest gently on the nape of her neck, rubbing soothingly. "Easy, luv. 'S gonna be fine."

She nodded, taking deep, gulping breaths. Sudden pain in her hands drew her attention to the fact that they were both clenched into white-knuckled fists, and she forced them to relax.

She didn't know what she was so worried about. They couldn't hurt Spike and he wouldn't hurt them. This was going to be fine.

Spike slid his hand down her arm to clasp her own. "You sure you wanna do this tonight, sweetheart?"

She jerked him to a stop, staring up at him anxiously. "We said tonight. We agreed!"

"An' I'm still agreeing, but you're looking a little green around the gills, luv. Don't even know if this thing is going to work out yet. We could wait."

She shook her head. "No. You're not going to be my dirty little secret, Spike. If we do this we're gonna do this right." She'd promised him a chance and she meant it. If she was going to give him a real chance then she couldn't be skulking about in the shadows, sneaking off to see him, and keeping quiet about it in front of her friends. That wasn't how relationships worked. Not healthy ones anyway.

She hadn't realized how tense he was until he relaxed beside her. The shadows that had been lurking in his eyes all through patrol vanished and she realized that he'd been worried too. Only he wasn't worried about what her friends might think; he was worried she would change her mind. And he would have let her too. He didn't want to wait, but he was willing to, for her. He was the sweetest thing ever. She just hoped her friends gave him the chance to prove it.

"If you're sure then."

"I'm sure."

She threaded her arm through his, pressing into his side as they resumed walking. He looked down at her, expression caught between amused and "chuffed", as he liked to say. British people used weird words. Why couldn't he just call it what it was? Head over heels, jump up and down, _thrilled_. Okay, yeah, that was a bit much. Maybe chuffed worked just as well. It sounded funny, but it took much less time to say.

"Like the shoes," he observed as they walked. "Like the whole outfit, actually."

She smiled, resting her head against his shoulder, which was just the perfect height thanks to the aforementioned shoes. "Aren't you glad I insisted on changing after patrol?"

"Mm." He pressed a kiss to her exposed temple. "Patrol clothes weren't bad either. You're right gorgeous in anything."

She laughed softly, but didn't accuse him of flattery. She knew he was being completely sincere.

"Romantic," she said instead.

He puffed his chest as best he could with a slayer-shaped growth on his left side. "And proud of it."

They were approaching the Bronze now and he hesitated at the bottom of the ramp. He gave her arm a soft squeeze.

"Ready?" he murmured.

"Yep." She pulled away, but only slightly, readjusting them so that they were holding hands again.

"Into the fray," he teased.

She bumped his shoulder and gave him a genuine smile. This was going to be okay. It was going to be more than okay.

The gang was waiting at one of the tall tables. Someone, probably Willow, had ordered her a diet coke and it was sitting, untouched, in front of an empty chair – _the_ empty chair. She threw a backwards glance at Spike, who had been forced to step behind her in the crowded club. He nodded and she drew him along after her as she wove through the crowd toward her friends.

"Hey, guys."

"Buffster!" Xander greeted as she drew up to the table. "Done with patrol already?" His gaze shifted to the blond over her shoulder. "And, uh, did you know you had a stalker?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes, focusing directly on Spike. "You'll have to forgive him. He has foot in mouth disease."

"Not a problem, pet."

Buffy could tell from Spike's tone that he was giving the cheerleader one of his melt-a-girl's-insides grins even before the other teen fluttered a hand over her heart.

"Go Buffy," she muttered.

Buffy could feel Spike's silent chuckle behind her.

"Aren't you a little old for the Buffster? I mean, sixteen might be the legal age in England, but around here we call this 'jailbait'."

"Xander," Cordelia scolded.

"No, I mean, no offense and all, I'm sure you're a, uh," Xander eyes Spike's form skeptically, "a fine, upstanding citizen of the mother country and all, but Buffy's only sixteen, and you've got to be, like, thirty."

"Xander!" This time Cordy elbowed him.

"Oof." Xander cradled his stomach, but would not be deterred. He looked to his other friends for help. "Come on, somebody back me up here. Oz? Willow?" His best friend said nothing. "Hello? Earth to Willow?" Xander leaned across the table to wave a hand in front of her face.

Willow didn't seem to notice. "Buffy, is that Spike?" she asked slowly, unable to draw her gaze from the blond vampire.

Buffy winced. Leave it to Willow to put it all together.

"Spike!" Xander yelped, ducking behind his girlfriend. "I take it back. You're evil. Go away!"

"Really?" Cordelia asked, looking over her shoulder at her cowardly boyfriend. "What do I see in you again?"

"What? You're meaner than me." He looked up at Buffy. "Buffy! Stake him."

Taking a deep breath, and shored by the comforting touch of Spike's hand splayed against the small of her back, Buffy decided to just plunge in. "Sorry, Xand. Can't do that. He's sort of my date."

There was a moment of stunned silence and then, predictably, Xander's panicked voice.

"Holy frijoles! Buffy's been thralled! Somebody get a stake - or holy water." He fumbled in his back pocket belatedly and pulled out a small wooden cross. "Back, you demon!"

In his panic it took him a moment to realize that no one else was moving.

"Uh, guys? Evil vampire controlling slayer. A little help here?"

"Nit," Spike muttered under his breath.

Buffy elbowed him, though she secretly agreed. "I'm not under a thrall, Xander. Spike doesn't even have a thrall." She looked back at him. "Do you?"

He shrugged. "Never tried it, but I don't think so. Only a few vamps I've met can thrall, and they all had something a bit other about them even before they were turned. Or were older than God."

Buffy nodded firmly and then turned back to Xander. "So, no thrall. And put that cross away. Spike isn't going to hurt anyone. Didn't we go through all this last fall? Spike is bagging it, Spike is helping, there will be no dusting of Spike."

"You told them last fall?"

Spike's tone was dangerously close to awed and Buffy automatically turned to see his face, flushing at the adoration clearly visible there.

"After you took out the Annoying One and canceled the Order's contract."

Spike seemed choked up. When he lifted his free hand and cupped her cheek lightly, Buffy found herself covering it with her own without thought.

"Buffy," he breathed, twining their fingers and drawing it to his unbeating heart as he pressed his forehead to hers gently.

Buffy's eye fluttered closed.

"Oh, yeah. He's real dangerous," Cordelia said, shoving Xander back into his seat. "I say if he hasn't killed her in the last eight months he's not likely to try now, right Willow?"

Willow floundered a moment, possibly because of the display Buffy and Spike were putting on, or perhaps just because Cordelia was looking to her for support. Buffy turned her head slightly to look at her best friend.

"Oh, uh, yeah. Right. I mean, he's saved her twice and everything, right? Anything that keeps Buffy alive is good, I say."

"Any_one_," Buffy corrected quietly. "And it was three times." She and Spike had finally pulled apart, though now her back was practically plastered against his chest.

"Right." Willow flushed guiltily. "Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean, you know, that you were a _thing_. I just meant – in general."

Oz laid a gentle hand over her fluttering fingers. "What she means is: welcome to the Scoobs. And we appreciate you not killing Buffy – and not letting anyone else do it either."

The two men exchanged nods as the girls chorused a welcome, which Xander reluctantly echoed after a not so gentle kick from his significant other.

"You gonna stand all night, or what?" Cordelia asked, arching a brow.

Spike chuckled and grabbed the empty seat, holding it out for Buffy. She looked down at it and then up at him and shook her head.

"Can stand, luv. Not like I have circulation to cut off."

Buffy was adamant. He was her date, she wasn't going to have him standing on the fringes all night. "Sit," she insisted.

Watching her carefully, Spike did as commanded. Buffy immediately dropped into his lap, forcing him to bring his arms up around her waist.

"We could get another chair, Buff," Xander said, clearly unhappy.

"I'm comfy, thanks." Buffy made a show of leaning back into the vampire and then sighed with contentment. She squeezed Spike's arm reassuringly in response to his slight stiffening beneath her frame and was gratified when he immediately relaxed, pulling her more firmly into his body.

For several moments the table was engulfed in awkward silence. Then Willow asked Oz a question about the band, and Spike made a comment about Oz's answer, which set the two of them talking about the evolution of the modern rock band, and even Xander seemed a little impressed when Spike told them he'd been to Woodstock (though thankfully he kept the part about snacking on flower people and subsequent hallucinatory highs to himself).

Buffy smiled as her friends and her date fell into easy conversation. Everything was going to be okay. Yes, there was some awkwardness and some wiggins, but that was only because her friends didn't know Spike yet. Vampires as something other than mindless and evil was still a very new concept to them, but once they got used to him and realized that he was a person like them, only a little sturdier, everything would be fine. The best thing she could do was to be completely comfortable with him, because that would help her friends be comfortable too.

* * *

Telling Giles, as it turned out, was even easier than telling the Scoobies. In fact, it was downright anti-climactic and Buffy felt almost cheated by her watcher's lack of objection.

Almost.

Apparently she was the slayer and Giles trusted her judgment. Who'd have thought? Of course, it probably helped that Spike had saved her life more than once and had been living on bagged blood for almost a year.

She also had a sneaking suspicion that Giles was looking forward to a new direct source of material on vampires. He had that researchy gleam in his eye. She didn't suppose she could blame him. Angel had never been much with the sharing, which must have driven Giles crazy. Or, you know, whatever passed for crazy when you were a stuffy British guy.

There was, of course, the obligatory threat:

"You hurt her, you're dust."

Spike took it in stride. "Know that, don't I?" He held the other Brit's gaze with sincerity. "You needn't worry, Watcher, not gonna do anything to cause Buffy harm. Not gonna let anyone else have done either."

Giles' eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And her sacred calling?"

Spike shrugged. "Got no ties to my own kind. And I do like a good spot of violence." He grinned, sharp and feral, before letting the expression ease into a more genial smile. "Our girl's gonna be the longest lived slayer in history. I promise you that."

Giles held his gaze for a long, hard, moment. And then he nodded.

"Well, Buffy, I suppose that we'll be adjusting your training regimen now that you have a suitable sparring partner. I shall have to look into finding us more training space. Can't have the two of you thrashing the California Public School System's books, now can we?"

And that, as they said, was that. She couldn't believe she'd gotten off so easy, but she wasn't going to question it. It was about time the Powers cut her a break from the suckage that was her life.

She exchanged a grin with Spike as they followed Giles back into the storage closet where he "hid" her training weapons. She reached out to snag the vampire's hand and he used it to draw her closer to him. He raised their join hands and pressed a fleeting kiss to the back of her palm while Giles was busy searching for something nonlethal for them to spar with – in deference to the books, of course.

Spike chuckled and then reached around the other man to grab a _Nerf_ plastic dart gun from the stash. Flustered, Giles blushed.

"Xander must have left that here."

Spike shrugged. "Don't care if it was left by Father Christmas. 'S a good training weapon, yeah? No danger to the books or the furnishings. I can hide in the stacks and the Slayer can practice finding me with her vampy vibes." His finger worked the plastic trigger.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Please, I could find you with my eyes closed. Other vamps . . . er, not so much." Her eyes brightened. "Oh, maybe we could catch a fledge, or, well, maybe not a fledge, they're not too good with the paying attention for longer than three seconds, but a newbie-ish vamp and I could practice on him."

"No."

The two Brits shared a comradely grin at their simultaneous, flat responses.

"Yeesh, it was just a suggestion," Buffy muttered, but inside she was smiling.

She'd promised Spike a real chance, and it looked like he was going to get it – from everyone.

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Chapter End Notes:

I know I said I'd start posting one-shots right after the holidays, but I had some computer trouble. I didn't lose any of my writing (thank God), but I had no where to post from. Good news is that now I have a few one-shots saved up. If anyone has anything specific they'd like to see in this altered Buffy world I'm still open to ideas.

Also, the first half of my upcoming epicseason 4/5 fix-it re-write is just about complete. I'm considering posting it as two separate stories, one for season 4, one for season 5. Honestly, it's just that long. I'm at almost 400 pages on the season 4 portion and it's still got four chapters to go. Also, looking for a beta on that one if anyone is interested.

Thanks and I hope you enjoyed. I'll try to post at least once a month from now on, maybe every other week if the ideas are flowing. I'm trying to squeeze these oneshots in between the epic, so no promises.

-reenas-as


	2. Faith, Hope & Uncertainty

Disclaimer: I own nothing, nada, zip. This chapter is based loosely on the episode Faith, Hope &amp; Trick. No direct dialogue is used.

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**Faith, Hope, and Uncertainty**

Two slayers. Again.

Huh. Spike wondered what happened to the Jamaican chit. Probably offed by some lucky fledge. Girl had form, but no style, as he recalled. Raised by watchers, so it was no wonder she'd not much in the way of street smarts. He'd have eaten her alive (pun intended) back in the day.

New one had a bit of flare to her though. Bit of a dark side too, lest he missed his guess. An' she was hiding something. Pulse kicked up when Buffy asked about her watcher earlier, though none of the humans picked up on it. Cool as a cucumber that one. Lied without even breaking a sweat. Have to keep an eye on her, surreptitious-like. Didn't want to raise the alarm if she was just playing hooky or some such.

He turned back to his girl to find her staring at him, expression unreadable. The others had already left for their respective homes, having stayed out much too late after their unexpected run-in with the second slayer.

"What?" he asked. Automatically his hand reached to smooth his heavily gelled locks. One thing he missed about being human, just the one, and that was having a reflection. Least Buffy usually told him when something was out of place. Dru had probably never even noticed. Not that she'd have had the courtesy to say anything if she had.

"Nothing." Buffy shifted. Nervous, was she? Interesting that. He waited her out, knowing she'd get around to whatever was bothering her soon enough. She bit her lower lip, glanced back at _the Bronze_. "Just, umm, what do you think?"

"Muffins aren't really my cuppa, but the band was alright."

Buffy huffed, agitated, the way she did when she thought he was being deliberately obtuse. In all fairness many times he was, but not tonight.

"Not the Bronze," she said. "Faith. What do you think of her?"

Ah, so that's what this was about. Buffy was worried. He had to admit her mates were enamored of the new girl. He'd tried his best to keep Buffy in the conversation, but the whelp wanted to hear new stories, and he was like a dog with a bone. Faith and her alligators and nudity was the easy victor in a contest of interests. Not that Spike believed half of what came out of that girl's mouth. Sensationalist journalism was what it was. He recognized another braggart when he heard one. Girl couldn't have been a slayer for more than a few months, no way she'd been all the places she said or done all the things she claimed.

He shrugged. "She's got balls, I'll give her that."

"So you don't— I mean, you don't like her?"

He quirked a brow. "Don't not like her."

Buffy shook her head, expression still uncertain. "No, I mean, you don't like her. The way you like me."

His eyes narrowed. "If you have to ask me that, Slayer, we've got problems. One woman vamp, I am." He'd stayed with a crazy woman for more than a century and Buffy really thought his head would be turned by a pretty face?

"No, I know. God, I know. I only meant – she seems like your type."

As if he had one. Did she mean the slayer thing?

"My type's the best. An' you're the best. Too good for the likes of me."

She didn't even react to the compliment. "Yeah, but she's all badass and she likes your leather coat."

Ah, not the slayer thing then. Thank God. He'd been accused more than once of having a slayer obsession and it didn't sit well with him. He didn't love Buffy because she was a slayer, though he didn't love her in spite of it either. He loved her and she happened to be a slayer. That wasn't to say he didn't like the slayer part of her as much as the Buffy part, but his love and her slayerness were two completely unrelated issues.

And was that all she was worried about? As if he needed bad. Had plenty of bad all on his own. Besides, bad girls could be fun, but they never stuck around. He had no doubt Faith would fall into his bed should he so much as look sideways at her. But she'd fall out of it just as fast. Loose woman, was what they would have called her back in his human days – if they were being very polite. Spike had no use for that.

Mind set at ease, Spike pouted playfully. "You don' like my coat?" he asked, gliding toward her.

"Of course I like your coat. That's not the point. It's just you— well, you – and she – she understands darkness. I don't."

He growled softly, slipping his arms around her waist and pressing his forehead to hers. "Love that about you. Love you." God, did he. How could she ever doubt it? Doubt him? It was tempting to be put out at her lack of faith in him, but this wasn't about that, he knew. It had nothing to do with him at all. It was about her and her insecurities. "You're sunshine an' goodness an' everything I shouldn't want, but I do. You are perfect. So blinding bright I can't even see anyone else when you're in the room. An' they're only shadows when you're not. You're it Buffy. Never gonna want anyone else," he promised in a near-whisper.

She stared at him, speechless, and after a moment he winked and stepped away.

"Hot though," he said, pulling out a fag and tucking the end between quirked lips. "Since you asked."

She gaped at him and he shrugged.

"Still got eyes, Slayer. An' objectively speaking the chit's smoking."

For a moment they watched one another. His eyes sparkling with mischief, hers shifting as a multitude of emotions roiled through her. Such a tiny slip of a thing, but she felt so much.

And then she hit him.

He rubbed at his abused shoulder absently and looked down at her solemnly. "You did ask," he reminded her quietly.

She frowned, but he could tell she wasn't truly hurt or angry, just a bit annoyed. "Yes, and then you told me you couldn't even see other girls anymore, only prettier and more poetically."

He pulled his cig from his lips and tossed it away, carefully blowing the last whiff of smoke away from his girl. He held her gaze all the while and when the last bit of smoke cleared away he finally spoke.

"An' it's absolutely true. She's not a girl, luv, she's a picture. Flat, two dimensional. Pretty, but she can't touch me. And you," he stepped forward purposefully, backed her into a parked car and caged her there with his arms so that their faces were barely an inch or two apart. "You're light and life and laughter," he said, injecting every bit of intensity he had, all the depth of his nearly overwhelming emotions toward her, into the quiet words. "You reach inside and fill me to the brim. I'm covered in you, luv. An' I can't get enough. You're beautiful and wonderful, and I'm never gonna get enough," he finished in a whisper against her lips.

Buffy let out a soft whimper, eyes shimmering with unshed tears before her lids slid closed, blocking them from his view. And then her lips touched his and she was melting into him and nothing else mattered.

She was his sun and she was gonna burn him right up one day.

But what a glorious way to go.

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A/N: I know I promised a one-shot every month while I'm writing my epic in the background, but somehow I completely missed June. It was a crazy month for me. I'll try to remember to post another one late this month. On the bright side, I've finished part 1 of "the epic" (which still has no title) and I'm considering editing it so I can post it while I'm writing part 2. I am looking for a beta if anyone is interested.

Thanks for reading. Drop a note if you have time :)


	3. Better the Devil

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Based loosely upon the episode "Helpless".

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**Better The Devil**

It was a barbaric ritual, really. One that hadn't been practiced in decades. Only a controlling prig like Quentin Travers would even think to resurrect such an outdated, abhorrent custom as the cruciamentum. Rupert Giles thought he might hate the man for it, just a little.

He stared at the wooden box the Council had sent by diplomatic post. It looked so small, so innocent sitting on the table in the SunnydaleHigh School library. Just a little wooden box, smaller than a shoe box. He flipped the lid and glared at the contents inside.

Poison.

That's what it was. Oh, they could dress it up, call it a "suppressant" or a "normalizer" (if such a thing was even a word), a "drug," as if it was for medicinal purposes, was beneficial in some way. What it was, was a toxin. A mix of demon venom and magically enhanced enzymes that would turn his strong, beautiful slayer into a helpless teenaged girl.

Which wasn't so bad, on its own. Buffy might even like to be a normal girl for a time; she'd said as much on more than one occasion. No, the terrible part was that after he'd weakened his slayer he was supposed to offer her up to a vampire of the Council's choosing. Lock her in an empty building with a soulless demon, a killer, and leave her there with no warnings, no weapons, and no more strength than a normal girl.

A test they called it. He called it cruel.

And he had been ordered to do it. He was supposed to start today. The drug was to be administered a little at a time, in regular doses over the next week, leaving Buffy helpless on the night when she was to receive the most horrific birthday present imaginable to herald her coming into adulthood.

He might hate Travers a very lot, actually.

And, terrible as it was, he probably would have done it. Troll that he was, Travers was the head of the Watchers' Council, and as such was the absolute authority on all things dealing with the slayer. Orders were orders, abhorrent though they might be. And Giles would have to follow them.

Except . . .

Spike would know. Of course he would. The vampire was nothing if not observant. Even if Giles managed to distract him long enough to administer the doses day after day –which he might be able to manage, since Buffy was supposed to be "meditating" with that bloody stupid hypnosis crystal the Council had also provided– there was no possible way that the master vampire would fail to notice that Buffy was weakening, or that there was a tiny hole which never seemed to heal in the vein at her elbow. He was a _vampire_, for heaven's sake. He was going to notice her blood. And he was going to notice the change in its smell. Because Spike knew Buffy and Spike knew slayers. He was going to know something was wrong, even if he'd no way of knowing what it was.

It wouldn't take him long to figure out that the smell was strongest when she got through with training. And it would take him even less time to make the correlation to her watcher. Giles gave it three days at most before he had one quarter of the Scourge of Europe breathing down his neck – and that was if Spike was feeling patient.

Spike would murder him. And then he'd catch the red-eye to London and raze the Council chambers. And Giles wasn't entirely certain that he'd blame the vampire for it.

Which left him in quite the predicament: he could hardly tell the Council that he couldn't administer the test because his slayer's master vampire boyfriend would get upset.

And yet, telling them the truth (or, the _other_ truth, he supposed it would be more accurate to say) –that he couldn't do it because it was wrong– could very well cost him his job. Both his jobs. He had no doubt that should he be removed as Buffy's watcher the Council would see him fired from the high school and deported as well. And then they would send a new watcher, one who didn't know Buffy, who didn't care for her as he did. One who wouldn't understand about her friends and certainly wouldn't understand about Spike. And that watcher would give her the drug and Spike would kill him.

Hmm. Perhaps that wasn't such a bad plan after all. But, no. This theoretical new watcher was not deserving of death, even if he would doubtlessly be little more than Quentin Travers' yes man. Besides, there was a chance, however slight, that this new watcher would recognize Spike (for what he was, if not for who he was) and would somehow manage to dust the master vampire. And then Buffy would be heartbroken on top of drugged and panicked when she was made to endure her test.

Which was the only reason he was even considering going through with the whole ghastly thing. He could talk to Spike about it. Give some explanation (though obviously not a fully accurate one or the blond would never allow it) and pray Spike didn't kill him when the full truth came to light.

Out in the hall he could hear the muffled sounds of Buffy and Spike's typical banter, followed by her girlish giggle and his amused chuckle. They were coming to train; he had to make his decision.

It really was a stupid, antiquated ritual. What sort of fool put his best warrior at a disadvantage just when she'd gained the experience to really make a difference? It made no sense. Buffy had been the slayer since she was fifteen, clearly she was capable. And aside from the Council's drug there was nothing in this dimension or any other that could render a slayer helpless, so there was little point in testing her performance under such circumstances. And it would be so easy for something to go wrong. So easy for them to lose her.

Buffy was the slayer and she lived on the Hellmouth. Who was to say that the local demon population would not become aware of her weakened state and conspire to kill her before the test could even begin? Not that Spike would allow it to happen, but the Council didn't know that, did they?

This was why the cruciamentum hadn't been practiced in nearly a century. And Travers was a bloody blind fool if he couldn't see it.

With a disgusted sigh Giles closed the box and dropped it into the waste bin beside the counter. The hypnotic crystal followed after.

He couldn't do it. He'd just have to hope he could convince the Council of his reasoning.

He was well away from the evidence of his almost crime by the time his slayer and her partner made their way into the room. Still, he didn't fail to notice the way Spike slowed as he passed by, inhaling deeply and casting a narrow-eyed glance over the rim of the waste bin. Nor did he miss the way the vampire's too-knowing blue eyes sought him out across the room, meeting his own gaze with piercing intensity.

Ah, so he'd known all along.

He should have known that Spike would be aware of the cruciamentum. He had hunted slayers, of course he knew of this practice. Though it hardly fit the vampire's punk image, Giles had found that Spike was an avid scholar. Of course he had learned everything he could about his favored prey. He'd been expecting this.

Giles held the vampire's gaze steadily and then shook his head minutely. Spike relaxed immediately, giving the (physically) older Brit a firm little nod.

And Giles knew that had he made the wrong decision he would have found himself at the wrong end of the master vampire's fangs.

And he found, on second thought, that he wouldn't have blamed the man at all.

* * *

A/N: I know - I said I'd try to do two updates in July. I'm sorry. Life got very busy. As an apology I'm loading two shorts for this series today. I'm still one short ahead and I've finished the initial draft of part I of my epic and have almost completed the detail outline for the second part. Thanks for reading


	4. Dresses, and Dances, and Hell Houn

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Hell hounds," Spike growled.

"Yep." Buffy popped the 'p' perkily.

She was beyond adorable when she did that, but he was too disgusted with the events of the evening to respond appropriately. "I soddin' _hate_ hell hounds," he said instead.

"So you've said." Buffy looked down at what had once been lovely little top and fingered the tattered lower hem with a frown. "Gotta say, not really my favorite right now, either."

Spike looked at her sideways. "Then why are you so damn perky?" She wasn't usually so unfazed by the destruction of her wardrobe.

She shrugged. "Why aren't you? You usually love a good throw down, and that was as throw-downy as it gets."

"Damn things slobbered all over my duster," he groused.

"Seriously?" She held out the ragged ends of her shirt pointedly.

"Yeah, but you've got a dozen cute, frilly things like that. An' a mall full o' more. Mine's irreplaceable."

She rolled her eyes. "Then maybe you should leave it at home next time."

"Oi! This coat's my trademark. Can't jus' 'leave it at home.'"

"Then quit whining."

He gaped at her. Whining? Had she really just accused him of whining? Before he could show her what true whining was she distracted him by heaving a large sigh.

"Is this really about the duster?" she asked, hand perched temptingly on one slim hip. "I mean, seriously, that thing gets slimed at least twice a weak. Demon-doggie slober's got to be easier to get out than chaos demon slime."

He didn't answer her. As if she didn't know what the real problem was – the larger part of it at any rate.

"Well, at least it's over," she said.

Spike couldn't help but chuckle at that. Oh, his golden girl. Always looked on the bright side, this one. Deciding that sulking wasn't going to improve anything he slapped his hands against his thighs and pushed off the table he'd been using for support.

"Right then, you ready to blow this joint?"

Buffy smiled coyly. She moved toward him, hips swaying provocatively, and ran the tip of one dainty finger down the center of his chest. "What did you have in mind?"

Spike growled playfully and banded his arms around her waist. "Oh, I was thinking you, me, a hundred or two of your nearest and dearest . . ."

"Why, Spike, are you proposing?" Buffy feigned swooning and he caught her torso as it went limp. Her neck was exposed temptingly and he nuzzled into it before blowing a sharp raspberry against her soft skin.

"Hey!" she protested. She pushed him, but he hardly moved. Not much room for leverage when she was wrapped in his arms.

"You started it."

"As if."

He kissed her. "If," he murmured.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means you did too. And are we leaving or what?" he added before she could protest further.

Spike watched as his beautiful girl took in the ruined basement. Quite a tousle they'd had themselves. He frowned once more. Might even have been fun if it hadn't ruined his surprise for her. Good thing reservations didn't require down payments or that soddin' demon-summoning idiot would owe him a pretty penny.

"At least we got here before any of them got out," Buffy said. "Can you imagine doing this at the school?"

"Might'a had to torch the place," Spike teased.

Buffy flushed prettily. "I knew I shouldn't have told you about that. You're never going to let that go are you?"

"Never," he said solemnly, nuzzling into her neck once more.

She let him for a few moments and then she pulled away, fingers tangling gently in his hair to keep him from following. "I thought you wanted to go?"

"Right." He straightened and took a step back. Wasn't his fault she was so bloody distracting.

He took her hand and led her out the door. They'd brought the Desoto, mostly because it was barely dusk when they'd left, and also because he'd been hoping the car would save them enough time he could still take her to dinner after they knocked some sense into the moron who thought summoning demon dogs was a good time. No chance of that now.

When they arrived at the house on Revello Drive he pulled up into the driveway and threw the car into park. Buffy worried her lower lip and he tightened his grip on the wheel to keep from grabbing her and replacing her teeth with his own. Buffy didn't seem to notice as she kept her gaze fixed on the garage door.

"Luv?" he finally prompted.

Buffy started. "Oh. What?"

"You alright?"

She nodded.

Only now did he realize that Buffy had been oddly silent the entire drive. He frowned. "One of those buggers get you? You're not acting right."

She turned to him and smiled a small, nervous, smile. "No. I'm fine. Seriously. Just . . ."

He arched a brow. "Jus' what?"

"We don't actually have to go, you know."

He rolled his eyes. Was that what this sudden hemming and hawing was about? Girl was off her rocker. Of course they were going. He'd already bought his kit, needed someplace to wear it. Not to mention hers. "Right. 'Cause it isn't a big deal or anything. We'll catch the next one," he said with heavy sarcasm. As if Buffy would ever forgive herself if they missed this thing.

"But it's totally not your thing, right? I mean, I didn't really expect you to, you know. And we're gonna be totally late. It'll be, like, half over by the time we get there." She shrugged. "Just seems like a waste is all."

She meant it, but she didn't. He could see the earnestness of her green gaze, but he also saw the way her fingers were worrying the tattered edge of her ruined shirt. He reached out to gently still them.

"Please. You've been talking about it for weeks. Got all your things, yeah? Be a shame to waste them."

She shrugged. "It's not like I'll never get the chance to wear them. There's always mom's Christmas thing at the gallery. I mean, my dress isn't a very Christmas-y color, but it's not like anyone even pays attention to me at those things anyway. And, besides, I hear it's way overrated anyway. I mean, they didn't even spring for the community center or anything, we're just gonna be in the school gymnasium, and—"

"Buffy!" he interrupted, arms crossed. "Do you want to go to the bloody prom or not?"

Buffy blinked owlishly at him. "Well, um, yeah. Sure. I guess."

"Then get your delectable arse inside and put on your pretty dress or we're gonna miss the whole thing."

Buffy obediently pushed open the door (a sure sign of how much she really did want to go, despite her protests, because this girl never did as she was told) and then paused. "You aren't coming in?" she asked as he continued to let the engine idle.

"'F I come up there with you we won't be coming back down. Not in time for your dance."

She flushed adorably and he grinned. The physicals aspects of their relationship were still new enough that the very mention of them flustered her. And he took every opportunity to observe the phenomenon, knowing that soon enough she'd be past that stage. Not that he ever expected the bloom to fall off this rose. He couldn't imagine making love to her being any less exciting in thirty or forty years. Was never going to get tired of loving her. But this thing where the whole concept of sex was new and wonderful and terrifying? That would eventually fade. And then he'd discover what a Buffy fully comfortable in her own skin (and with his) was like. He had to admit he was looking forward to it, but once that time came this lovely, shy thing would be lost forever. He wanted to savor her while he could.

"What about you?" she asked.

"What about me?"

"Aren't you going to change?"

"Got my kit in the boot. I'll change once we get there."

She worried her lower lip again and then abruptly spun and dashed toward the house. "Back in ten minutes," she called over her shoulder.

Spike chuckled and drew out a fag, settling in for the long haul. Ten minutes his firm, pasty arse.

"Are you sure you know how to do this?"

Spike rolled his eyes. "For the hundredth time: yes."

Narrowed green eyes roved his face as though she could determine the truth through sheer force of will alone. "Really? Because it's bad enough I'm at prom with the king of bleach."

"Oi!" He smoothed a hand over his slightly looser than usual hair. As a concession to her he'd allowed the front to curl a bit, but the back and sides were still slicked back, albeit not in their usual tight helmet. It was his own fault, really – the curls. Shoulda known the moment that he woke up with her fingers combing the stiff strands loose and that dreamy look in her eyes after their first time making love that it was going to be a thing with her. "No insulting the hair," he said. "It's classic."

"Classic Billy Idol."

He growled and pulled her close. "Told you, that wanker stole his look from me. Had half a mind to eat him for it, but his music was too damn fantastic."

She blinked up at him. "Did you just call Billy Idol fantastic?"

He growled again and she giggled.

His eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing here. 'M not so easily distracted as you seem to think."

"Doing?" she echoed, eyes wide with assumed innocence. "I'm not doing anything here."

"No, you're not. Which is why we're going over there."

Without giving her chance to protest further, Spike pulled Buffy out into the throng of dancing teens on the floor. Seeking out a clear spot, he stopped several yards from her cluster of friends. He eyed them with mild distaste. And Buffy was worried that _he'd_ embarrass her? Where did that lot learn to dance? An electrocution?

The kids were keeping it fairly clean in deference to the many chaperones lining the walls, though a few were taking advantage of the late hour and obvious fatigue of the adults to sneak in some light groping. Spike smirked. Amatuers. Could probably get Buffy off right here, in plain view of everyone, and they'd never know how it had happened. Not that he was going to. They'd only just got here; he wasn't aiming to get them kicked out.

Still, there was inappropriate and there was intimate. Didn't have to be the one to be the other.

He drew Buffy close to him, her back to his chest, and encouraged her into gentle swaying as they familiarized themselves with the beat of the current song. As the beat invaded their senses their innate rhythm and grace took over and they moved together as fluidly as when they were fighting side by side. Give and take. Natural as breathing, or as natural as breathing was for her.

"Wow," Buffy murmured, reaching back and looping an arm around his neck to tangle her fingers in the curls at his nape. "You weren't kidding. Why haven't we done this before?"

He chuckled. "Got an image to maintain, pet."

Her grip tightened slightly, but it was enough to cause him to lower his head, chin near resting on her shoulder now. "We are so hitting the dance floor the next time we're at _the Bronze_."

He didn't protest.

The song changed to a slower one and Spike turned her to face him, moving her into a close hold that allowed them to do little more than sway at the moment, though with a few quick shifts they'd be free to dance if the mood struck. Not as though there was room for proper dancing anyway, kids packed in tight like sardines.

Buffy's head drifted down to rest lightly on his chest and he pulled her a touch closer, soaking in her warmth.

"Thank you," she murmured. "I'm really glad we came."

He smiled, fingers smoothing over her slightly mussed hair (she really had done her best to get ready in ten minutes, but even with Slayer speed it'd taken her closer to thirty). He dropped his head and let his lips brush her ear. "You deserve it," he said softly.

His beautiful, wonderful, warm girl, who saved the world every night without much complaining. She deserved every good thing in this world, any part of it she wanted. There was a lot he would never be able to give her, but damned if he wasn't going to give her everything he could.

"You deserve it," he whispered a second time, so softly he wasn't sure even Buffy could hear it under all the din.

He pulled her closer, reducing their swaying to a gentle rocking, but he didn't think she'd mind. A moment later his theory was confirmed when slim, golden arms wound up around his neck and her head came up for a gentle kiss.

"I love you," she said.

And even though it wasn't the first time she'd said it he felt his dead heart lurch with wonder at the words.

God, what did he ever do to deserve this? And how did he make sure it never stopped?

Stubbornly blinking back tears, he smiled at her before caressing her lips with his own once more. Then he tucked her firmly to his chest and held her there.

"Love you too, sweetheart. Love you too."

A/N: Whew. Just barely made my (self-imposed) deadline. Okay - time for votes. Who wants part 1 of the epic rewrite to start posting now? I've given it a full read through/edit (though sadly, no beta) and I'm 75 pages into part 2, so I suppose it's probably safe to assume I will finish it . . . A warning though, if you thought _Eyes_ took it's sweet time getting our favorite pair together, "the epic" is an even longer ride. "The epic" takes only slightly less time than the actual series did, although the "together" part is more satisfactory (by which I mean permanent and actually romantic ) Also - my inner nerd might have had a hand in this one. That's what happens when people give timetravel prompts. My Trekness takes control and I can't stop it . . .

reenas-as


	5. Vampire Bling

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Please note that in the "Eyes" universe "Something Blue" occurs before "Harsh Light of Day" - or, since most of Harsh Light didn't happen in the Eyes-verse, I guess it'd be more accurate to say: Spike doesn't discover the existence of the Gem of Amarra until after Willow's botched "Will be done" spell.

**VAMPIRE BLING**

"Wha'ch'a doin'?"

"Oi, watch where you're sittin', Luv. These are old."

Buffy peered down at the poster-sized prints littering her boyfriend's desk. It was a nice desk, in a nice basement level apartment. Big on space, not on windows. She'd told him his crypt was fine, but Spike had been very insistent. He wanted to live in a Buffy-friendly environment, especially now that she was of an age to spend the night. That had been his exact phrasing: "of an age to spend the night." Seriously, what kind of vampire cared that his girlfriend was past the age of consent? Apparently hers. He wouldn't even discuss the subject until she turned eighteen. The one time she'd brought it up he mumbled something about peaches and dirty tossers what ought to have their balls ripped off, and she'd thought it better to let the subject drop. It wasn't like her mom was gonna let her live with him before she was out of high school anyway.

Not that she was living with him now –she wanted the full college experience, which meant dorm rooms– but she might live here one day. Maybe next year. They didn't talk about it much, but she knew she was welcome any time. Spike would never pressure her (not seriously), but she knew this was a forever thing for him.

"They don't look old," she mused, flipping through a stack of the prints and noting their blue ink.

Spike caught her fingers, gently removing them from his papers. "Tha's 'cause those are blueprints, pet. The books are old. An' the scrolls."

"Scrolls?" Buffy turned to see a stack in the corner of the desk. She leaned across to grab one only to find strong arms banded about her waist.

"God, what are you, nine? I jus' said don' touch those." He wasn't really angry, she could tell. Actually, he seemed more amused than anything, blue eyes sparkling.

Buffy pouted deliberately.

If he wasn't mad why couldn't she touch?

"Don' give me that lip," Spike warned as he pulled her down and settled her on his lap.

She pushed it out further and then squirmed a bit for good measure.

He groaned. "God, Slayer, sometimes I forget you're just a bloody child. Aren't you s'possed to be a college girl now?"

Buffy lost her pout in favor of a scoff. "Please. Because you're the poster boy for maturity? You're, what, two hundred now? And you still have the attention span of a toddler."

"One hundred an' forty-seven, thanks ever so. An' at least I know when to keep my hands off."

"Says the extremely flammable vampire who plays with lighters _and_ runs around in the daylight?"

Spike, to her surprise, didn't defend himself. Instead he chuckled. "And so we come back to the point."

"Point?" Buffy blinked. There was a point?

A second chuckle was muffled by her neck as he nuzzled the warm skin there. Seriously, this vampire neck fetish thing? It definitely had its perks. Something as innocent as a neck should not have so many tingly nerves.

Spike's lips slid up to her ear. "B'lieve you asked me a question."

Question? Oh, right. Yeah. She might have done that. With the questions and the asking. It was hard to think back that far with him so close. Three minutes was a very long time. She struggled to focus. There was something about papers and scrolls, and, oh! She wanted to know what he was doing with the papers and the scrolls. But what did that have to do with him being flammable?

"You're, um, you're gonna burn this stuff? But you said careful."

"Not gonna burn it. Maybe won't have to worry about burning me anymore either."

It took a moment for what he said to fully register (his tongue was lapping at that little hollow right below her ear and it was very distracting), but then it did and she straightened, pushing away to look at him.

"What?"

He smiled, eyes focusing on a lock of her hair as he curled it around his finger. He had a serious thing for her hair.

"Doin' some research. Think there might be a trinket what can cure me of this little sun allergy."

Cure? There was something that could make him not go poof in the sun? And they hadn't looked for it a year ago?

Visions of picnics in the quad and walking down the beach hand in hand flooded her mind. There may have been drooling. Shirtless Spike equaled way hot. Shirtless Spike with a tan . . . the very thought made her eyes cross.

She frowned as something occurred to her. "No way. If there was something that made vamps day-safe there'd be demons lining up around the block for it."

"Not if they don't think it exists anymore."

She studied him through narrowed eyes. He had that look. The boyish innocent one he got when he was trying to talk her into letting him do something that was probably stupid. Or at least pointless.

"Spike, is this the vampire version of a wild goose chase?"

"More like the Holy Grail, love. An' I'm fairly certain it's real."

"So, what? You're gonna go traipsing the globe looking for this thing?" She crossed her arms and this time her pout had nothing to do with teasing him. He was gonna be gone forever. And she didn't have forever.

"Hey now." Spike gripped her chin. "Not traipsing anywhere. If I'm right the Gem of Amarra is right here in Sunnyhell."

That piqued her interest. "Gem? This thing's jewelry?"

Jewelry was good. Well, it would be for her. Spike hardly ever wore any, except that ugly skull ring he picked up at some flea market last year. And that was in her jewelry box now; a memory of their brief, spell-induced engagement. She grinned at the memory of those few hours when reality had been in limbo and the dream of marrying the man she loved seemed possible. They couldn't really get married, of course. Spike didn't have American citizenship, or a social security number, for that matter. Plus, technically dead. Somehow she didn't think his birth certificate from eighteen hundred and something was going to be much use.

"You're thinking about it again." Spike's voice, right in her ear, startled her.

"What? No. I'm not thinking."

"You are. You're thinking about Red's spell."

She could feel her face flushing. "I am not," she protested. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder. "And, anyway, how would you know? You can't read my mind."

His smile somehow widened and got softer all at the same time. He traced her collarbone lightly with a finger. "Know because you get this hazy, dreamy, doe-eyed look whenever you're thinking about it. Imagine I look the same way." He nuzzled her cheek gently. "Was nice, yeah? Not to have to worry about those pesky details of reality for a bit. To just be us and in love."

Some of her embarrassment faded under the warmth of Spike's words. He really was a hopeless romantic.

Spike was thoroughly distracted now, his lips tracing the path of her hairline with gentle brushes. His fingers slipped beneath the hem of her shirt to smooth over the bare flesh of her stomach. For a moment she let herself be distracted as well, but soon those images of them at the beach started poking at her thoughts.

"So, gem, huh?"

"What are you gonna do if it's something girly?" Buffy asked over Spike's shoulder.

Spike lifted another rock and moved it aside. "Wear it," he said.

"Even if it's, like, a huge, ugly pin or something?"

"Brooch, Slayer, it's called a brooch."

She shrugged even though he couldn't see her. "Whatever. What are you gonna do if it is?"

"I'll pin it to the inside of my jeans."

She was momentarily distracted by an image of what that would require. Namely her uber-hottie boyfriend without pants. Fortunately the sound of another rock (they were more like small boulders, actually) being set aside drew her back to reality before she could start drooling.

"Seriously?"

He turned back toward her so that she could get the full effect of his rolling eyes. He was such a drama vamp.

"No, I'm gonna take to wearing cravats and pin it front and center. You gonna help, Slayer, or you gonna keep cracking jokes?"

She frowned. "Who said I was joking?"

"Oh, you were serious? Thought blonde wasn't your natural color, pet."

Buffy wacked his shoulder.

"You have energy for hitting, you have energy for lifting," Spike sing-songed.

"I don't help obnoxious vampires who imply I'm stupid," she said primly.

"How about charming vampires who say it straight out?"

She would have hit him again, but in one of those moments of dizzying vampire speed he was suddenly caging her against the wall, wrists firmly in his grip.

"Now, kitten," he purred, "you know what that does to me and I don't think you're quite ready for dirty tunnel sex yet."

Buffy felt heat suffuse her cheeks and other parts as well, but she valiantly pushed through her embarrassment (and arousal, because even if the thought of sex in this filthy hole in the ground was way ick, thoughts of Spike never were) to frame a retort. "Implying someday I might be? Dream on, bleach boy."

"Oh, I don't need to dream, luv," Spike assured her. "Quite certain I could persuade you to be a little _dirty _right now." He pressed his hips lightly into hers. "But quick and dirty is never my preference. Much rather have you in a soft bed with plenty of time to play. An' right now we're busy."

As abruptly as he'd cornered her he was suddenly gone.

"Now, you gonna help, or what?" he asked over his shoulder.

Buffy growled. Jerk. Now she was all tingly and frustrated.

"Faster we get these rocks off the faster we get ours."

"Eww." She scrunched her nose in distaste. Honestly, he could be so crude sometimes. But he did kind of have a point. With a reluctant sigh she moved forward to help him clear the tunnel. The sooner they got this over with the sooner they could hit the beach. And his bed.

Maybe not in that particular order.

It was real. Like, really real. And it did a whole lot more than give her boyfriend the opportunity to work on his tan. Although she wasn't entirely sure he _could_ tan now. Super vampy healing probably covered what basically amounted to very minor burns as well as combustibility. Because that's what the gem was: a super vamp healing thing.

It was also a ring.

A man's ring. And how chauvinistic was that? Although, now that she thought about it most of the uber bad vamps she'd run into were men. Except maybe Darla and Dru. Although they weren't really uber bad. Old, yes, but they'd never tried to end the world or anything. Well, no on their own. And anyway, whoever this Amarra guy was he probably hadn't been thinking about equal rights when he made this thing, he'd probably just been thinking about himself.

There was also treasure. Lots of treasure. It was demon treasure so they didn't even have to report it to the authorities, and since the Council had fired Giles her last year of high school (not that anyone would tell her _why_) he wasn't going to report it to them either. Which meant they were pretty much set for life. All of them.

Which was way awesome.

She didn't get to go to the beach though, which was not so awesome.

It was Giles who convinced them (and by them she meant mostly Spike, because she really, _really_ wanted to go to the beach at least once) to keep the gem on the down-low. Not that he'd said down-low –she was paraphrasing– but the point was the same. The gem was too easy to lose, or have taken. Slip the ring from Spike's finger (or the finger from his hand, or the hand from his wrist, or the wrist from his arm . . . yeah, she was going to halt that train of thought right now) and it was all over. Best not to become dependent on it. Plus, Spike wasn't exactly unknown. If word got out that he'd found a way to bask in the sun other vamps were bound to come poking around trying to find out how he was doing it. Maybe not the local populace, they knew him well enough to keep out of his way, but other vamps. Old vamps. Strong ones. Spike had a reputation, sure, but the lure of the gem would be strong.

So they had agreed to reserve the gem for emergencies. And very special, non-Sunnydale, occasions. Because she'd insisted on that. Someday she was going to the beach with her boyfriend; Giles would just have to deal. They could go somewhere far away that vampires could never get to. Like a tiny island in the south pacific or something. It wasn't like they couldn't afford it now.

Privatebeach vacation. Yeah, that sounded nice. Maybe after the next apocalypse.

Until then the Gem of Amarra sat in her jewelry box beside the horrible skull ring she loved, because somehow two ugly, gaudy men's rings were less conspicuous in her room than at Spike's apartment. Which, actually, yeah. Probably true.

She smiled as she closed the lid on the box.

She was getting quite the collection of vampire bling.

A/N: Sorry this is so late - honest. October is one of my costume cram months . . . I was making 5 full costumes, plus I had to make my dad a steampunk costume for late September. And then I had to plan and prepare a themed Halloween party. So the last two months seriously got away from me. On that note - this is the last fully completed one-shot I have for this series, though I have some other ideas sketched out and two partially completed fics. So this series will probably have more sporadic updates from now on - and they probably won't be in direct linear order anymore. I totally wasn't putting them up in linear order on purpose anyway, I'm just that OCD. My muse is even OCD . . .

However - I believe I will start posting the seasons 4-5 epic rewrite. I estimate I'm a third to half done with part II, and there now be a part III, so this is going to be a long, slow-burn kind of Spuffy ride - and most of the action (Spuffy or otherwise) will be in part III. I don't usually start posting until I've fully completed a story, but it's looking like that won't be for a good while, so I'm going to give this posting-while-writing thing a shot. I'm 28 chapters ahead and I usually write a chapter every week or two, so hopefully that will give me time and I won't catch up to myself.

So . . . all that to say . . . see you next fan-verse :-)

reenas-as


	6. Of Mice, Monsters, & Stupid Soldier-Men

Chapter Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

**Of Mice, Monsters, and Stupid Soldier-Men**

The first time they saw the commandos they were looking for Oz. Well, Buffy thought they were looking for Oz at the time, but actually it was Veruca doing the killing. Which was a huge relief, but didn't change anything because Oz left town anyway, and Willow was all mopey for _weeks,_ and there'd been that whole incident with the engagement that (sadly) could never be. And, actually, that part was very nice, but she was getting sidetracked.

Anyway, while they were looking for Oz (but really Veruca) they'd nearly stumbled right into a hoard of men dressed in black and hiding in the bushes. Buffy wasn't sure what they were doing there, but she did know that she and Spike needed to find Oz before they did. Guys hiding in the forest wearing black and carrying guns were a bad sign anywhere, but on the hellmouth? Uh, yeah. Safe to say demon related. Or anti-demon related. She didn't have to argue with Spike about it, he was no more eager for a run in with semi-automatic weaponry than she was, though clearly he was more concerned about her safety than his own. But then, a bullet wouldn't do much more than aggravate him.

The second time they saw the commandos they were all fighting the Gentlemen. And she did mean _all_. So, clearly the commandos were anti-demon, which didn't put her much at ease since her boyfriend _was_ a demon and these guys looked like shoot-first-ask-questions-later kind of guys. And was that one guy her psych TA? He totally was! Why was her psych TA fighting demons? She might have hurried Spike off a little quickly after that one. It was clear these guys were an organized group of some sort, and she had no idea what all their fancy doo-dads did, and she did not want her undead boyfriend getting caught in the crossfire. Nope. No way. Actually, she didn't much want to have to explain to her psych TA why she was running around in the middle of the night chasing demons or how she knew how to kill them, either. So, yeah, all in all she wasn't anxious to stick around.

That didn't stop him from cornering her about it at school later that week. Though she couldn't help but notice he seemed more interested in her relational status than the demon thing. Did he like her? He liked her! She supposed he was kinda cute in a corn-fed, all-American way, but she had Spike. Which she told him. And _thank God_ he didn't seem to have figured out what Spike was. Or what he wasn't. And they were really going to have to be more careful on patrols from now on because she was starting to think this might be some sort of military operation and she was totally not letting the government kidnap the love of her life. And why was the government kidnapping demons instead of just killing them? She hoped they weren't doing some sort of Frankenstein monster-type experiment, because been there, done that, hello.

The third time they saw the commandos there was really less seeing and more running into, and technically it was just one commando – her psych TA. And was he following her or something? Because she was pretty sure those green demons were keeping their hellmouth-opening attempts on the down-low, and she'd only found out about it completely by accident. Well, accident and a lot of watcherly interference. But anyway, the TA –Riley, she thought his name was– somehow got down into the old high school basement (or, probably, under it was more accurate. She was pretty sure this was a cavern below the basement – it was hard to tell with all the blast rubble. And she seiously hated this place. Aside from the terrible memories, and the hellmouth, she was pretty sure she'd just seen a mouse. She _so_ did not do mice) and was trying to "help". Which might not have been so bad, except that Spike was fully vamped when Riley showed up.

And Buffy had not missed the way the TA's eyes widened and his hand dropped to his holster before one of the green guys barreled into him and she had to shout for him not to drop them into the convenient fissure in the ground because that was what they _wanted_. And then there was demon slayage, as the odds were evened, followed by awkward silence and even more awkward excuses. And, oh God, they needed to go, like _now. _And Riley was pretty eager to get away too, but she was afraid of what he was going to do once he did. And why had they left the Gem of Amarra at home tonight of all nights? It was a freakin' apocalypse! But they'd been at Giles' and there hadn't been time to stop by her place for the ring, and Spike was so insistent that three Vrahl would be no trouble for a master vampire and the slayer, and she didn't know the commandos were going to show up - while Spike had his game face on, no less. And, _God_, her life was such a mess.

The fourth time might technically have been part of the third time, but it'd been ten whole minutes since they'd left Riley back at the burnt-out school, so in her opinion it was a new encounter. And she could not seriously believe that he would call his posse to take them in (or out?) after he just watched them avert an apocalypse. What was he? Stupid?

"Step away from the hostile," Riley ordered.

"Hostile?" Buffy echoed, putting on her best dumb-blonde smile. "The only hostiles I'm seeing here are your friends. Though it could be the guns. They don't exactly scream 'we come in peace', ya know?"

"We know he's a subterrestrial. Step. Away."

This time Buffy's confusion was not feigned. "Subterrestrial?" She looked at Spike, who shrugged.

Riley and his friends hadn't moved, but Buffy could hear the TA-cum-commando's irritation in his voice. "Look, I don't know if you're with another unit, or some other organization, but clearly you are familiar with subterrestrial hostiles. I saw you fighting them. You're no novice."

"Demons?" Buffy cast another glance at her boyfriend for confirmation. "You're talking about demons? Well, yeah, I'm not a novice. I'm the slayer."

The title didn't seem to be ringing any bells, if the blank look on Riley's face was anything to go by. She couldn't see any of the other commandos' faces, as they were wearing masks, but nobody looked like they were having an ah-ha moment. These guys fought demons and they'd never heard of her? That was kind of insulting.

Buffy sighed. "Slayer, the? She who fights evil and hangs out in cemeteries? Is any of this ringing any bells?"

Riley frowned. "Reynolds," he said.

A commando stepped forward and snapped to attention. Or was it parade rest when they had their feet apart and their hands behind their back? At ease, maybe? Though he certainly didn't _look_ at ease. Anyway, he stepped forward and started speaking.

"Slayer, the. A mythical being who fights 'evil'. I didn't think they actually existed, sir."

Spike snorted. "_They_, nothing. 'Less you're speaking collective history. One woman gig, this."

Because that was helpful how? Buffy took a step back toward Spike and noted the way the gun muzzles followed her. Lovely.

Riley's gaze narrowed. "If you take out subterrestrials, what are you doing fighting with one?"

"Oi," Spike protested, stepping up so that her shoulder brushed his chest. "Slayer doesn't fight with me. 'Cept when we're sparring. Fights beside me."

"Spike, not helping," Buffy muttered.

"What did you just tell it?"

"It?" Buffy bristled. Her boyfriend was so not an it. "I told _him_ to stop being not helpful. Not that it's any of your business what I say to my boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?" Riley looked to Spike in disgust. "It's an animal."

A loose, but restraining hand fell on Buffy's shoulder before she could pummel the bigoted creep with the gun.

"Don't know many animals what speak fifteen languages and have a thorough knowledge of art history," Spike drawled. "But I can see as that makes it easier on you."

Spike's hand squeezed Buffy's shoulder reassuringly, and she forced herself to relax against him. If the guys with guns started shooting at them it would be bad, but getting all worked up about it wouldn't help.

Riley seemed confused, but one of the commandos stepped forward.

"Sir?"

Riley shook his head, as if to clear it. "Right." He looked at Buffy sternly. "This is your last chance. Step away from the hostile or we'll have no choice but to take you in too."

Spike's hand fell away and Buffy took that as her cue to fall into a defensive stance.

"You're welcome to try," she said, equally stern.

"Don't much recommend it though," Spike commented drily. He was already moving around her left side where they wouldn't be in one another's way as they faced the line of foes before them.

"Don't move," Riley commanded.

"Not bloody likely," Spike muttered.

For long, tense, moments, they remained in silent stand-off. And then Spike sprang.

Anyone watching would probably think the commando was raising his gun in reaction to the vampire's oncoming assault, but Buffy was not just anyone. She knew that Spike had let the soldier make the first move - he was just that much faster. She moved into action behind him, covering his back.

At first the soldiers treated Spike as the greater threat (by which she meant the only threat), but once she'd sent three of them to the ground they seemed to reconsider.

"What are you?" the one she was currently fighting spat. "You some kind of demon too?"

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You guys really need to do your homework. I'm. The. Slayer. Look it up." She was totally human; she just had a bit of a power up. Not that these guys had much room to talk. They were clearly on something, because normal guys would have been knocked out by now. Of course, now that she knew that she didn't have to go so easy on them. Her next punch felled her would-be attacker.

Following her lead, Spike quickly decked two commandos in a row before laying out a third with a round house kick.

And then they tazed him. They frickin' tazed him. And those were not ordinary tazers. For one thing they were long range. They shot out some sort of barbs on wires that stuck in their target and allowed for multiple shocks from a distance. For another, Spike jolted like he'd been struck by lightning. She hated to think what that kind of voltage would do to a normal human if it affected a vampire like that.

Spike dropped to a knee and Buffy stopped analyzing and started pulverizing.

They wanted to know what she was? Oh, they were going to find out first hand. Nobody beat up her boyfriend.

It was frighteningly easy to knock them all out once she took the brakes off. And frighteningly difficult to restrict herself to _only_ knocking them unconscious, when they were hurting her lover.

"Buffy," Spike's arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into his chest. "I think you got 'em, luv."

She turned to look up at him, and it was only when his thumb brushed under her eye to catch a drop of moisture that she realized she was crying. Not hard, sobbing, crying, but there were angry tears gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Spike drew her in for a comforting embrace. "'S alright, sweetheart. I'm alright," he soothed.

Buffy breathed deeply, taking in his scent.

"What the hell are you?"

Buffy turned to see Riley staring at them in horror. She looked to Spike in question. Why had he stopped her before she got them all?

Spike shrugged. "Seems to be in charge. Thought you might want to pass along a message or summat."

He had a point. Buffy drew in a calming breath, mostly to keep from clobbering Riley, and cracked her neck.

"You took out my entire squad," the man said, shocked.

Buffy turned to see the remaining commando lifting his gun with trembling hands. Before he could properly aim, his hands were empty and Spike was suddenly studying the weapon beside her. Damn, she forgot how fast he could be.

Apparently Riley hadn't known vampires could move that fast either. He looked stupidly from his empty hands to the master vampire at her side.

Spike smiled humorlessly and snapped the semi-automatic in half over his knee.

Buffy smiled before redirecting her attention to their remaining foe. "They're just unconscious," she told him. "I don't kill humans. They'll be fine."

"Aside the splitting headache and wounded pride," Spike added.

Buffy elbowed him in the ribs. "Not helping," she said firmly.

She could practically feel Spike making a face at her back, but he stayed quiet.

"You're a monster."

The accusation didn't hurt as she would have expected, probably because it was pretty clear these commandos were idiots. Buffy shook her head.

"No. I fight them. That's my job. To fight demons. And if you're going to stick around my town you need to get something straight: this _is_ my town. I decide who gets staked and who doesn't. If you have a problem with that you tell your bosses, or whoever, to take it up with the Powers That Be."

Riley looked confused and Buffy snorted in disgust. "Powers That Be? The big guys upstairs? You know what? I don't have time for this. Look up Slayer, The." She met his questioning gaze with a level stare. "We're on the same side, Riley. But you and your friends need to stay out of my way."

Riley didn't respond, but Buffy didn't have all night to wait for him to process. She held out a hand to Spike, who took it and used it to tug her against his side. "Make sure you pass along the message," she said, already walking away. After a few strides she stopped and turned back, ignoring Spike's inquisitive look. "And Riley, one other thing." She waited for him to give her his undivided attention ,and then continued with steely intent. "Spike," she looked to her lover meaningfully, "is off limits. If anything happens to him, there'll be hell to pay."

"An' you don't want to know what happens if you hurt her," Spike added.

She half expected an attack from the rear as they made their exit, but apparently Riley had a little sense. Spike squeezed her hand in reassurance and she cast him a quick smile of appreciation. He always knew what she was thinking, and what she needed. She didn't know what she'd do without him. More terrifyingly, she didn't know what she would do to anyone who took him from her.

She glanced down at their joined hands, remembering the near black-out rage that seeing him tazered had induced. Even now the anger and fear was almost overwhelming.

That was it. She didn't care what Giles said. Spike was wearing the ring of Amarra until this commando thing got sorted out. Maybe longer. No one was taking her lover from her.

Buffy scooted closer to Spike. he looked down at her with a quirked brow as she wrapped herself around his arm.

She smiled prettily and batted her lashes up at him.

"What?" he asked, a faint suspicion lingering behind blue eyes.

"Hey, Spike. I think we should go fill in Giles. Don't you?"

His face clouded with confusion, but he nodded. "Sure. Okay. You wanna tell me why that warrants the eyelashes, luv?"

Buffy sighed. He was so not going to like this. Aside from the fact that he agreed with Giles about the whole keeping the ring on the down-low thing, he wasn't going to like the insinuation that he needed it. But she seriously wasn't trying to imply he was weak. It was just that there were a lot more commandos than there were the two of them. And even Spike had to sleep sometime.

"On second thought, let's go to my house first. I need to see a box about a ring."

Spike stopped, pulling her to a halt beside him. "Ring?" His eyes narrowed and he gripped her shoulder to make her face him. "Buffy, we agreed."

Buffy set her jaw determinedly. "We did. But now the situation has changed. I think we need to reevaluate."

"Sweetheart, they're only human. Supped up, yeah, but you honestly think I can't take them?"

She bit her lip, pushing back the sudden tears that threatened, not wanting him to take them for crocodile tears. She wasn't trying to manipulate him, she was just worried.

"This isn't about that. It's about me knowing you're safe."

His jaw clenched and a muscle ticked between that clean line and his sharp cheekbone. Yeah, he was not thrilled. But he wasn't yelling, so that was a good sign.

"An' what about you? No ring to keep you safe from them. You heard that idjit. They think you're some sort of demon too."

"I'll talk to Giles. I'm sure the Counsel can do something about that." Of course, the Counsel might also try to do something about Spike. Maybe it was better to keep them out of this. Not that she really needed their help. "Besides, I spend most of my time at school. You seriously think they're gonna grab me in the middle of all those people? And when I patrol I'll be with you. So, really, the ring will be keeping me safe too."

Spike searched her eyes and then sighed. "You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Buffy shook her head. "I can't lose you. I can't."

He pulled her to him, cradling her head against his chest. She felt the moment he made his decision in the slumping of his shoulders. He always did that before he let her have her way.

He pressed his lips to her hair and she burrowed deeper into him.

"Right then," he murmured, breath stirring her hair comfortingly. "Let's go see a box about a ring."

Buffy tightened her arms around him and nodded against his chest as the building pressure in her own subsided. She didn't know what she would do without Spike. But with a little luck maybe she'd never have to. Besides, it was about time that trinket stopped collecting dust and did something useful. And, hey, maybe they could final take that island vacation? She still hadn't gotten to see her boyfriend shirtless in the sun.

And, hey! She could totally vacay without guilt, knowing the government was keeping the hellmouth safe while she was away. So what if she had to kick all their butts when she came back?

She smiled to herself, ignoring Spike's inquisitive glance. Looked like something good would come out of this whole commando fiasco after all.

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Chapter End Notes:

Well, I missed a month. But I also started posting my epic, so I think I can be excused. These will come slower now since I'm working to finish the BN series, but I still have some half-finished pieces on my flash drive, not to mention all these ideas floating around in my head, so you will probably still see them every now and then.

Thanks for reading.

reenas-as


	7. Coming Out II

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Eyes of a Man won best series at Sunndyale Memorial Awards round 31! Thanks so much to all who voted. And, in celebration, another one-shot in the Eyes verse (finally). This is for the lovely reader who asked how Joyce reacted to the news that her daughter and Spike were dating.

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Coming Out II

"How do you feel about meeting my mom?"

Spike stopped short at the question and, as a result, nearly got hit in the face as he failed to dodge an incoming high kick. Buffy pulled back at the last possible moment and considered that maybe bringing this up mid-spar session had not been her brightest idea ever. But Giles was out for a staff meeting, which meant they were alone for the first time in forever, and the words just slipped out.

"What?" he asked.

Well, no turning back now. "My mom." She was deliberately not looking at him, instinctively fearing his reaction. God, this should not be so hard. He was Spike, and he loved her, and they'd already come out to everyone with easy access to a crossbow and he was still standing. And so were they. "Do you want to meet her?"

"Do _you_ want me to meet her?"

What kind of a stupid question was that? She wouldn't be asking if she didn't. Right? "Why are you evading the question? You _don't_ want to meet her, do you?" she accused.

Spike moved then. Fast. Before she could fully register what had happened she was sitting on the library counter with her boyfriend's slim hips between her knees. Gentle fingers titled her chin up and, despite her best efforts, she found herself meeting his gaze.

"Hey. 'S not like that," he said, and looking into his beautiful, honest eyes she knew it was the truth. "Jus', wasn't expecting it."

That made her frown. "Why not? Boyfriends always have to meet moms eventually."

He quirked a brow. "Not when the boyfriend in question is a hundred and something year old vampire."

She shifted, unable to hide her discomfort at the thought of sharing that little tidbit with her mother, though probably not for the reasons he was thinking. "We don't have to tell her that . . . right away."

He smoothed a hand over her hair. "Not sure the alternative's much better, luv."

She looked to him in question and he sighed.

"How you gonna explain to your mum your punk rocker boyfriend, who looks to be about a decade older than you?" he asked

The question was probably mostly metaphorical— No. Wait. That wasn't the right word. Did it start with an 'r'? Rhetoric, maybe? Anyway, he probably wasn't expecting an answer, but she tried to give one anyway. "You're much younger than you look?"

He shook his head. "Mum's never approve of bad boys, Slayer. Or pedophiles."

She slapped his shoulder, outraged on his behalf. "You're totally not a pedophile," she protested, voice slightly raised.

"I'm more'n a century older than you!" he countered, angry now.

"Yeah, which means it, like, doesn't count. It's like in fantasy movies with elves and stuff, where they're like five thousand and the human is twenty."

And just like that the anger was gone. Seriously, would she ever get used to his mercurial moods?

Spike's lips twitched in amusement and he moved in closer to her, sliding along the insides of her thighs in a way that made her warm everywhere, despite two layers of jeans between them. "So at some point the age gap becomes so large it ceases to matter? That what you're sayin'?"

She shrugged. "Well, it's not like you're getting any older. Er, physically at least." She grinned. "Or mentally."

"Ha bloody ha."

They stared at one another, silent.

"So, does that mean you'll meet her?" Buffy finally asked.

Spike's expression remained fully focused as he answered solemnly, "I would love to meet your mum, Slayer. But I think this is going to take something more of a game plan than the others."

Buffy only realized her brow had furrowed when his fingers reached to gently smooth it.

"Like what?" she asked.

His shoulders tenses slightly and she wanted to reach out and soothe the tension away, but more than that she wanted to know what he was going to say, and if she started touching him that wasn't going to happen, so she sat on her hands to keep the temptation at bay.

"You're not gonna like it, Luv, but I've been thinking for some time it's about time your mum was let in on the secret."

A snort escaped against her will. "The last time I tried to tell her she threw me in the loony bin."

Spike's eyes flashed gold. "What?" he snapped.

She shrunk away. She wasn't afraid of him. He'd never hurt her. But it was the instinctive reaction when someone she loved was unhappy with her. Though, in all honesty, it probably wasn't _her_ Spike was unhappy with right now.

"Oops. Didn't I tell you that before?" Probably not best to tell him right before he went to meet the woman, so she decided to skim over the next part. Minimize the damage. "It, uh, wasn't long. So, you know, not a big deal, but, um, not eager to go back."

Spike visibly calmed himself. He reached out and snagged one of her hands to entwine their fingers. The action soothed them both. "Yeah, well, bet last time you didn't bring along proof."

"Proof?" Somehow she doubted stakes and holy water would convince her mom.

Spike morphed into game face.

"Oh."

"Probably best to bring the watcher too," Spike said. "At the very least he's an authority figure who can vouch for your sanity and your virtue."

"Virtue?" Why would she need Giles to vouch for her virtue? And what was this, medieval times? She could do whatever she wanted with her virtue, thank you very much. Stupid Victorian vampire.

"You think your mum's gonna buy your Tolkenien age gap theories?"

"Tall what?" she echoed.

He sighed. "Elves."

"Oh."

"At any rate, doubt she'd be thrilled with the idea that her 17 year old daughter is shacking up with a _much_ older man, and a vampire no less. Least the watcher can assure her we've not got up to anything funny."

Actually, that probably wasn't such a bad idea. She distinctly recalled an incident involving a recognition plaque and some suspiciously rectangular bruises on Pike's arms when her mom found out about her first kiss. A mother's wrath was not to be taken lightly.

"Right."

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When Buffy was fifteen she'd had a mental break. Hank was insistent that she get real help, and by real help he meant sending their baby to an institution. Joyce hadn't liked it, but she'd been desperate to save her marriage, and Buffy really did need help. She'd felt bad, but she'd done it.

She'd felt worse when they finally brought Buffy home. She looked like a runaway that first night: hair stringy, clothes hanging too loosely. She hadn't acted like one. She'd been normal. Cheerful, friendly, happy to be home, but Joyce knew there had to be resentment lurking somewhere inside. Even if it had all been for the best, Buffy had hated that place.

It appeared there was more cause for resentment than she'd thought. Buffy hadn't been crazy. She's been right.

Vampires.

Joyce studied the man with the bleached blond hair surreptitiously from across the dinner table as he took a helping of spaghetti and passed it on. If she hadn't seen him in his "game face", as her daughter called it, not twenty minutes ago she would have thought he was an ordinary man – poor fashion taste aside.

He was anything but ordinary. And so, apparently, was her daughter. She'd seen her one hundred and fifteen pound, size zero jeans, daughter lift a couch today. Over her head. With one hand.

Maybe _she_ was having a mental break and needed to spend some time in an institution.

"Pass the parmesan, please," Buffy asked with a timidity that was distinctly out of character. Her gaze kept shifting between their two guests who, oddly enough, were both British gentleman even though they swore they'd only met recently, and Joyce got the distinct impression there was something they had yet to tell her.

That probably had something to do with the screaming. She'd sort of lost it during Spike's game of show and tell. The following terse conversation about what exactly being a Slayer entailed hadn't gone much better. There had been shouting. And possibly thrown objects. Though thankfully at least one of their guests was practically indestructible, and fast enough to protect the more fragile human who was the immediate object of her wrath. Not that either man looked especially delicate.

At some point she should probably apologize for that. Again.

By the time she calmed down enough to propose a move to the dinner table, it wasn't surprising that all three of her companions were more than a little wary.

But if they didn't stop the surreptitious glances and nervous shifting she was going to lose it again.

She cleared her throat delicately as she served herself.

"So, are you three going to tell me what else you came here to tell me? Or are we going to keep ignoring the elephant in the room?" she asked, a study of politeness.

More nervous glances were exchanged. Buffy twirled and un-twirled her pasta on her fork, something she hadn't done since childhood.

"I won't yell again. I promise." She smiled, intending it as a joke, but Buffy swallowed hard and cast a pleading glance at the vampire sitting beside her.

Joyce was still trying to piece together what exactly he was to Buffy. There had been a jumbled, rapid-fire explanation after she'd stopped throwing things in the living room, but it had served to confuse her more than anything. She knew he helped her daughter in her duties. She wasn't quite certain on the why.

Her daughter and Spike seemed to be having a silent conversation, and she briefly wondered if telepathy was among the vampire's powers. Or her daughter's, for that matter. Explanations on that had been somewhat scattered as well, and altogether too brief, but she understood they were trying to give her time to wrap her hear around this enormous paradigm shift before they overwhelmed her with details.

Finally, Buffy nodded and turned to face Joyce.

"We're, ah," Buffy looked back to Spike for help. He reached over to take her hand atop the table and met Joyce's gaze seriously.

"Buffy and I are dating," he said solemnly, as though announcing a funeral. The next part followed in a rush. "I want you to know that I love her and, more than that, I respect her. We've not got up to anything I swear. Well a little sno—" the word was abruptly truncated, most likely by the application of Buffy's heel to the top of their guest's foot.

Joyce barely noticed. Dating? Her daughter was dating a vampire.

Her initial mother's instinct was to react loudly, and not happily. To forbid Buffy from seeing this man who wasn't even human and had been alive longer than the other three of them collectively, but then she saw the faint trembling of her daughter's lower lip and the pleading in her eyes. She recalled, suddenly, that she had promised not to yell.

She bit the inside of her lower lip to keep the torrent of words at bay.

"Ah." Mr. Giles, the librarian, who was apparently also something called a Watcher and looked after her daughter's . . . duties, interjected. "I can assure you Spike has been most honorable."

Honorable? She looked into the vampire's eyes and he didn't flinch or look away. They were blue, she realized, startlingly blue. And possibly the most transparent eyes she had ever seen. This man wore his heart on his sleeve, and he wasn't afraid of it. She could see there that he did love her daughter, did respect her, and that he took their relationship very seriously.

She wasn't altogether certain that was a good thing, until she took in the look of trepidation on her daughter's face and the white knuckled grip she kept on Spike's hand. Any fear she had that Buffy didn't realize this man was in it for the long haul, that she was too young for that sort of commitment, faded.

Joyce took a calming breath to center herself and smiled. "I'm sure he has been. And will continue to be so," she said, with a calm she did not feel. "Can you pass the garlic bread, Mr. Giles?"

"Ah." The staid Brit seemed at a loss, thrown off balance by her unflappable calm. At least, she hoped she came of as unflappably calm. "Certainly."

Across the table, Buffy worried her lower lip. "So you're okay then? With me and Spike, and the dating?"

It took everything in her to maintain her smile, because she really, really, wasn't. But as she looked at them, their entwined fingers, their pleading eyes, the way they leaned toward each other as though seeking support, she realized she might be, in time. It was a little much to wrap her head around right now, but she had a good feeling about Spike, even if he was a vampire.

"I don't have any objections," she finally said. Then she gave Spike a narrow-eyed glare. "However, if you do anything to harm my daughter, physically or emotionally, I know where Buffy keeps her ax now."

All three of her companions choked. Mr. Giles even coughed once or twice.

When Spike recovered, he nodded solemnly. "Yes mum," he said, "but I won't. Not ever. You have my word."

He meant it, she realized. Here was a creature who truly understood forever and its implications, and he was offering her daughter what there was of their shared time without reservation or hesitation.

There were worse things than being loved by a master vampire, Joyce supposed. Especially for a slayer. From what Mr. Giles had explained most slayers didn't live long. Spike was strong enough to be an asset to Buffy rather than a liability. Apparently he had already protected Buffy at great risk to his own person several times. Joyce didn't like it, but slaying, as it turned out, wasn't a job so much as it was a holy calling. If her daughter was going to put her life on the line every night it would be reassuring to know she had someone capable, who loved her, at her back.

As for the one-girl in all the world thing, well, someday she'd be having a conversation about that with someone upstairs, but for now she was going to have to live with it. As Spike had explained, the things that went bump in the night knew who her daughter was, and they wouldn't stop coming after her just because she stopped coming after them.

The atmosphere in the room was almost unbearably tense. They had expected an explosion of some kind, she realized, and weren't able to process the unexpected reversal. A conversation change seemed to be in order.

"Mr. Giles. Why don't you tell me more about this organization you work for?" she asked pleasantly.

Mr. Giles glanced uncertainly at her daughter and the vampire and then cleared his throat with a nod. "Uh, certainly, Mrs. Summers."

Joyce smiled. "Why don't you call me Joyce?" she offered. "And you as well, Spike. I've a feeling we're all going to be getting to know each other much better."

She didn't miss the way her daughter's shoulders slumped in relief. Nor did she miss that fact that they slumped in the direction of a certain British vampire and that his own dipped to meet them.

Joyce kept her smile firmly in place. It was going to take some getting used to, all of this, but she owed it to her daughter to do it. "Fake it until you make it" was going to be her motto for a while, but she had a feeling it wouldn't be as hard as she feared.

Though that young man had better keep his promise not to "get up to anything", as he put it.

Hmmm, maybe she'd have to get an ax of her own. It could come in handy.

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Chapter End Notes:

So, after spending a year and a half now in the Breaking Novikov universe, where Buffy and Spike still cannot get their act together, it was nice to revisit the Eyes-verse where they're nicely settled at this point. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I liked writing it.

Thanks for reading,

reenas-as


	8. Lover's Path

Chapter Notes:

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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Lover's Path

Something was off with Red and Harris. There was a distinct tang in the air whenever they caught one another's eye across the room in the library, or heard the other mentioned. It was the tang of secrets and discomfort, and it had Spike's demon on edge.

He liked to think he was a good judge of people. He didn't have a penchant for mind games, but that was really a matter of personal taste. Spike knew people. Buffy always said it was like he could crawl inside someone's skull and ferret our their every secret with just one look. Buffy's friends were hiding something. And it didn't take him long to figure out what, once he started paying attention.

They fancied one another. Or thought they did.

The very thought made him snort. He'd never understood the urge to search for greener pastures. You loved someone, you loved them, you didn't peruse other options while they lived – or unlived. End of story. So why these two wanted to muck about when they both had perfectly good partners already, Spike couldn't figure. Unless it was the forbidden fruit thing. Two had been best friends since they were in nappies; now that a relationship was off limits maybe it was tempting.

He didn't think they'd got up to much. Maybe an awkward kiss or two. Nothing to write home about. Still too innocent to do anything more, the lot of them. Weren't even legal adults in this country. And while that hardly mattered to most of the hormone bombs at Sunnydale High, the Scoobies were a respectable lot. Like as not the rush of adventure they got from sneaking around would fade before anyone else cottoned. And if it didn't? Well, wasn't any of his business, was it? Teenage romances fell apart all the time. Was only natural. They would chose to sabotage their current relationships, or they wouldn't, but the choice was theirs. And, yeah, life in Buffy's little group would be awkward for a time no matter which way it swung, but that was all part of living too. They'd learn. They'd grow. They'd be better people for it, probably.

So he resolved to stay out of it, despite the lingering headache he suffered with any prolonged exposure to them. And he would have kept that resolution, had he not scented that cloying, headache inducing stench drifting by from the direction of the magic shop on his way to pick up Buffy for patrol one night.

"Bollocks," he muttered. He sniffed cautiously. Yep, that was a nervous Red emerging from the shop with a paper sack of herbs. With the ease of long practice, he melted back into the shadows and debated his next move. As a general rule, Spike was opposed to the use of magic. Always had consequences, magic did. However, he'd come to accept that it was sometimes a necessary component to stopping the baddies, saving the world, and keeping his girl safe. Red was learning under Rupert and the gypsy computer teacher's tentative instruction, so he hated to jump in without knowing all the facts.

In the end it was her scent that decided him. She was too nervous, almost sick with it. Whatever spell Red was planning, it wasn't Watcher-sanctioned or Slayer-related, which meant it was no good.

He followed her and was surprised to find her path led to the school. For a moment he thought perhaps this was a watcher chaperoned activity after all, but then she veered left toward the science wing. No chance Rupert was hanging about in there. Spike let her fumble around in the dark a few moments, long enough to figure out she was throwing together some sort of anti-love spell, before slipping into the room.

"Bad idea, Red."

She jumped. He waited for her to recover, arms crossed over his chest, expression stern, though he doubted she could see it.

"Spike?" she asked, still a little breathless. "What are you—"

"Hey, Willow? You here?" Harris' voice sounded from the hall as he pulled the classroom door open. "Why is it so dark in here?" The light flipped on and Harris squealed.

"Holy bejeebers, Spike. What are you doing here? I thought I was just meeting Willow." His gaze darted between them suspiciously. "Is this slayer business?" He shook his head, speaking to himself now. "No. Buffy and Giles aren't here." He slammed a hand into an open palm. "I know! There was a prophecy, and Giles' was all stuffy watcher about it, so the back up squad is taking matters into its own hands!" He looked between them eagerly. "Am I right?"

Spike continued to watch the fledgling witch sternly and she looked guiltily at her shoes.

"Uh, guys?"

"You going to tell him, Red? Or should I?" Spike asked.

Harris stepped toward his best friend uncertainly. "Wills?" He came up beside the counter and tilted his head. "Is that a spell book? If this isn't about slayage why are you doing spells?"

"Red," Spike said, warning now.

The girl flushed nearly the shade of her hair and muttered something under her breath.

"Again," Spike demanded. "A little louder please, for those in the room who don't have vampire hearing."

He didn't know how it was possible, but her flush deepened. "De-lusting spell," she managed to say.

Harris floundered. "De— ah ha," he laughed nervously and cast an uncertain, slightly panicked, look at Spike. "Why would you need a delusting spell, Wills? Oz not ready?"

"He knows, Xander," Willow whispered. "I don't know how, but he knows."

"Oh, uh." The boy swallowed hard. "You're, uh, not gonna tell are you? Because it was just a couple kisses."

"And groping," the witch added, ever honest.

"Willow—"

Her head shot up, gaze flinty despite the continuing blush. "There was groping, Xander. And it was good, but so very bad!" She pulled something from her pocket and Spike realized it was one of those plastic candy dispensers that looked like cartoon characters on a stick. "He gave me _PEZ_, Xander. Even you never gave me _PEZ_." She buried her face in her hands with a half sob. "I feel so guilty!"

"Okay, okay," Harris assured her, genuinely concerned, though probably mostly because he was a teenage boy and she was a distraught female. "So we stop. Right now. No more kissing—"

"Or groping!"

He nodded. "Or groping." He looked down at the spell book and supplies. "You've got Oz and _PEZ_, I've got Cordy and . . . well, I've got Cordy. So we don't really need to resort to the black arts to keep our hormones in check, right?"

Red glared at him. "Uh, considering our current track record? I'm thinking yes."

Spike decided it was time to intervene again. "Think again, kiddies."

They blinked at him, like they'd forgotten he was even there. Dangerous thing that, but then, they'd never had reason to fear him. Spike leaned back, using his arms to support his weight against the counter behind him.

"Magic is not a solution, it's a gateway to more problems," he lectured. "There are always consequences."

Red turned pleading eyes to him. "But, Spike, you don't understand. We have to make it stop!"

He was more than half inclined to agree, but telling them so wouldn't help. Like it or not he was the adult figure here. Had to let them reach conclusions on their own or it'd never stick. "Do you?" he asked, playing devil's advocate.

They gaped at him and he held up a hand to stall any protests they might venture.

"Look. You've got good things going, yeah? Wolf boy and, uh, _PEZ. _The cheerleader. Damn lucky you are to have found such good relationships for your first foray into romance. But they are your first forays, yeah? Love isn't brains, children, it's blood. And you're young; there's no law what says your first love has to be your only. If your blood says it's over, nothing says you can't move on. If that's what you want."

"But that's _not_ what we want," Red said, looking to Harris for confirmation. The boy hesitated, but at length he nodded.

Spike shrugged. "Then don't do it."

The teens exchanged helpless glances.

Spike snorted. "You think the spell's going to change anything you're dead wrong," he said. He pushed off the counter and was before the witch in a few quick steps. "Let me tell you something, boys and girls, this," he picked up a pinch of herbs and let them run through his fingers, "has nothing to do with this." He moved his index finger to hover a centimeter from her heart. "This is about you. Your heads, your hearts, your blood."

"But it's hard!" Willow whined.

"Yeah, it is," he agreed, not at all sympathetic. Lived more than a century, he had. He knew a thing or two about _hard_. This was not hard. "But that's life, kiddies."

They still seemed uncertain and Spike sighed, hand coming automatically to rub at his temples. When did he become the Scooby therapist?

"Look," he said, stepping back to keep them both in view. "Say your spell works, and it doesn't make you sick at the sight of each other and ruin your friendship –which, by the by, it very well could– what do you think will happen in a few weeks when it wears off?"

"Uh . . . I was kind of thinking we might be over the lusties by then," Red said, fingers twisting together nervously.

"Which means you know this thing between you isn't real, yeah?" Spike asked. "An' you don't want to lose what you have for something temporary. That's great. Wise. So you take that, what you know, what your blood tells you, and you make it more important than what your hormones are screamin'. That's what being an adult is all about, yeah? Sussing things out and making the best decision you can for you and everyone else. You don't cheat. You don't take the easy way. That's for cowards and children."

"Don't talk down to us," the boy snapped, speaking at last. "We're not afraid. And we're not kids either."

Spike turned a hard glare on him, eyes flashing gold for an instant as he let a touch of the demon slip through. "You don't want to be treated as children? Don't act like children. You take a good look, and you figure out what's important to you, and then you act on it. This is your decision, but you damn well make it like an adult."

Harris looked ready to press the issue, master vampire or no, but Red laid a hand on his arm.

"Xander," she said meekly. "I think he might be right."

"What?"

She fidgeted, releasing him. "Well, he was with the same woman for a long time. I think he might know stuff. About this. Relationships."

She turned her pleading eyes up to the boy and Harris deflated.

"Yeah, I guess."

"So what do we do?" Red asked.

Spike retreated to the back of the room, letting them have a moment to sort themselves.

"Well, you know I'm all for avoiding magic," Harris said. "Spells and I have a very bad history."

Red nodded. "What about _PEZ_? And Cordy? You still love her right?"

Harris blanched. "Well, I don't know if I'd go _that_ far. But, uh," he rubbed a hand roughly over the short hair at the back of his head, "yeah. I think I'd miss her."

"And I know I can't hurt Oz like this. I've always loved you, Xander, but I think I'm _in love_ with Oz. Like, the big love."

"Aw, Wills." Harris engulfed his oldest friend in a bear hug, but it was a friendly sort, nothing sexual to it. "I'm sorry. I guess I've been an idiot, huh?"

She sniffed. "Me too. A big, hormone-driven, lusty idiot."

They pulled apart.

"So . . . this thing, it's over now?" Harris asked.

Red nodded. "Yeah. It's over." She turned toward Spike. "You'll remind us? I-if we need it, I mean. Please?"

God help him, what had he got himself into? Demons were not built to be accountability partners. But looking at their earnest faces he couldn't say no. Despite what they'd said, what _he'd_ said, they were just kids, yeah? On the cusp of adulthood, sure, but everyone needed a little help once in a while. He nodded and was nearly bowled over when Red unexpectedly tackled him with a hug.

"Thank you, Spike," she murmured into his chest. "For everything."

He shifted in discomfort. "Uh, yeah. You're welcome."

"Thanks, man," the boy said, approaching.

Spike stumbled back a pace. "You hug me and I'm out," he warned.

"Uh, and to that a big N.O." Harris stuck out his hand and Spike eyed it like it might be a venomous snake before he gingerly reached to shake it. "We owe you. I guess."

"Already owed me, Harris," Spike muttered.

There was a noise in the hall and the kiddies pulled back.

"Uh, we better go before security or someone finds us," Red said, already moving to gather her things. "We're not supposed to be here after hours. And I don't think Giles will bail us out for, uh, non-slaying related things."

"Right," Harris agreed. "I'll take you home, Wills. It's late."

"You two gonna be alright?" Spike really, really, didn't want to continue the awkwardness that was this evening, but he couldn't in good conscience let them walk home through the hellmouth alone in the middle of the night.

"I borrowed the car. We'll be fine."

"Goodnight." Red said. The boy echoed the sentiment.

Spike just nodded and sank back onto the counter, relieved. He threw his head back to stare at the grid tile ceiling.

God, they were a tiring lot, weren't they? He didn't know how Rupert did it.

"Hey."

The soft call startled him, and, if he hadn't been so finely attuned to everything about her, he might have attacked Buffy before he realized who she was. As it was, he didn't know how he'd missed her arrival. Too much awkward, probably.

"How long have you been out there?" he asked.

She was in front of him now, stopped between his spread knees, and she reached her hands to rest on his shoulders. He dropped his head and saw her gentle smile. Bugger. Too long, then. No chance of saving face now.

"Long enough to see what you did for them." She paused. "Well, to hear it."

He reached a hand out to tangle their fingers together and drew her closer.

"You gonna say anything?"

She shook her head. "They're entitled to their secrets, so long as it doesn't hurt anyone."

He grunted and then shifted so he could pull her up onto his lap. She came willingly.

"Very mature of you," he complimented. "More than them." He nodded toward the door where the bulk of the original Scoobies had departed. "Don't know what they were thinking, with any of it. But next time I vote Rupert gets to play counselor."

Buffy giggled. "You know you like it, having them all look up to you."

"Like h—"

She shushed him with a kiss, short and sweet; she was still smiling when she pulled back. "Seriously though, thank you. I hate to think what would have happened if you hadn't been around to talk some sense into them. Willow and Oz are so perfect for each other, you know? Like meant to be. And even if the thought of Xander and Cordy is still a little wigsome, I'd hate to see them spilt up like this."

Frankly, Spike couldn't figure what the cheerleader saw in Harris. But then, he was a bit biased on that score – the boy still harbored feelings for Buffy. So long as he didn't act on them, Spike was willing to let it go, but that didn't mean he was happy about it. If he ever caught Harris attempting to move in on Buffy he wasn't sure what he'd do, but it probably wouldn't be pretty. Though, for all his big talk, Dru'd stepped out on him right regular, yeah? And he'd learned to live with it.

"Spike?"

Buffy's hand slid up his arm, drawing his attention to her worried face and he shook his head.

""S nothing, pet. Jus' lost in my own head."

She studied him, suddenly all serious, teeth worrying her lower lip. "I'd never do that to you," she said after a long moment. "Not with Xander, not with anybody. You know that? Right?"

God, he was such an insecure berk, making her worry like that. Trusted her forever, he did. Harris made a move on this girl and he wouldn't have to do anything to the idjit, Buffy'd do it herself.

He smiled and smoothed a hand over her hair. "I know, Luv. Not in your nature, that."

She frowned. "I didn't think it was in Willow's either." She stared at the door a moment and then shook whatever thoughts had held her away. Her eyes turned back to him, big, and bright, and solemn. "But, uh, it's not just that. I couldn't do that to you because I love you."

The very room held its breath at the soft declaration. For a moment Spike felt lightheaded, which shouldn't have been possible seeing as he didn't need to breathe.

She'd never said it before. He'd suspected, of course. Girl like her didn't stay with a bloke for this many months if she didn't feel something for him. More than that, it was there in the way she interacted with him. He had seen it in her eyes, felt it in her touch. Knew better than to assume though. She was young, this was new, and even if she did love him didn't mean she was ready to face it. He didn't want to push her – everyone had their own pace.

"Spike?" she asked, nervous now. "Say something, would you?"

He blinked down at her, trying to work past the feeling of overwhelming awe that threatened to engulf him. Her hand flattened on his chest, warmth spreading from the contact through every part of him. God, he'd never felt so alive. She made him alive.

He grinned and kissed her thoroughly.

When he pulled back he said, "I love you too, Buffy." It was the first time in one hundred and twenty years he'd got to say that and it warmed him from the inside out.

Buffy near-wilted in relief. "Oh good. For a second I thought maybe you didn't believe me."

He hugged her close, head tucked beneath his chin. "I believe you, baby."

For a long time they sat like that, hugging, enjoying one another's nearness. And then Buffy's fingers began to trace abstract patterns on the fabric of his T-shirt, a sure sign she was nervous.

"So, um, do you—" She cut herself off, shook her head, tried again. "I want – can I—" She drew a deep breath and pushed back to look up at him with luminous eyes. "After patrol tonight, can I stay?"

His useless breath caught once more, but for a wholly different reason. She typically came over to his flat after patrol a few nights a week if homework wasn't too bad. They'd watch a movie, have a conversation, enjoy being alone together, sometimes snog a bit. But she always went home.

And not just because her mother had bought an ax.

It was a seemingly innocent question, but his nose told him the truth of it. He knew what she was really asking and he couldn't let her have that. Not yet.

"Buffy—" he began.

"Don't you want to?" she asked, brows pinching together in irrational worry, as if there were any world in which he wouldn't die all over again for the privilege of sharing her bed and her body.

He pressed his forehead to hers lightly, hands catching hers. "Always want you, don't ever doubt that." He pulled back to replace his forehead with his lips. "Ask me again in another few weeks," he whispered.

Her brow wrinkled beneath his lips as she frowned. "What difference does that make?"

He looked at her significantly and he could see the moment she got it.

She scoffed, like the teenager she was, which only emphasized his point. She wasn't ready for something this big. And maybe turning eighteen wouldn't actually make a difference –it was only a few weeks– but it was the principal of it, damn it all. He wouldn't steal away her childhood, her innocence. She'd be a woman in the eyes of the world before he made her one in deed.

"Seriously?" she demanded. "You're going to wait until I'm eighteen? You're British! And a vampire."

"An' you're American," he countered, "and the Slayer. You should be the one enforcing the rules here, not me."

She pouted, which was a low blow, she knew what that did to him. "But I want you. Now."

Irrationally, those words sparked a long buried ire. "Not a bleedin' pedophile," he muttered, hopefully too low for her to hear. Never sat right with him, even at his vilest. He knew he was unusual, Peaches had belittled him for it often enough. But men like that, men what got off on little girls and fear, they were the worst of the worst. Bloody tossers what ought have their balls ripped off, if anyone wanted his opinion.

"What?"

From the paleness of her face and the widening of her eyes, Spike guessed he must have spoken at least a portion of his thoughts aloud.

He forced himself to calm –not her he was angry at anyway– and smoothed his hands down her arms in reassurance. "Buffy," he began, injecting every ounce of tender feeling he held for her into the words, "I love you, and I'm right chuffed that you've finally realized you love me, but what's a few more weeks going to hurt?"

"Uh, okay." It was less an agreement with his point than an agreement to let the increasingly awkward subject drop. His brief loss of control must have startled her more than she was willing to admit.

Served his purposes all the same. Confession or not, he wasn't stealing her innocence away. An' he wasn't going to bring it up again either. If she wanted to come to him once she was well and truly an adult he wouldn't turn her away, but she'd have to be the one to say it. He wanted her to be sure. She'd only just admitted her feelings aloud; if nothing else, the limit he'd imposed gave her a few weeks for it to really settle in. If she still wanted him, wanted that, after . . . well, make one hell of a birthday present wouldn't it? Usher her into womanhood with style.

Damn sight better than the gift that typically greeted slayers who managed to make it into adulthood.

His fists curled at the thought of the Council of Wankers and their ridiculous "test." Still hadn't decided when or how to bring that up with the watcher. Though, if the berk thought he was going to go through with it, Spike would be revisiting that ball ripping thought. Castration was the least he would do to anyone what tried to hurt his girl.

When Buffy tensed against him he realized he was letting his thoughts run away from him again and he forced himself to relax.

"Say it again?" he asked, in part to distract her, and in part because he ached to hear the words, to remind himself they were real, that he hadn't imagined them.

She didn't ask what he meant, instead she smiled, shy and pleased. "I love you," she said, without hesitation.

He rewarded her with a kiss. "Again?"

The smile grew, almost a grin now. "I love you, Spike."

This time when his lips met hers she looped her arms over his shoulders. When he broke away to let her breathe he whispered against her lips, "Again."

He felt the brush of her lips as her smile widened still further.

"I love—"

He stole the rest of the sentence with his lips, mouth sealing to hers, tongue begging entrance. She granted it without hesitation, body pressed as close to his as was physically possible. One of her hands moved to tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck, the other slide down to his chest, fingers once more tracing patterns there. Only this time they weren't abstract at all, this time they repeated the same message over and over again.

_I love you_.

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Chapter End Notes:

Written because I think someone asked about the first time Buffy told Spike "I Love You" - or maybe that was just me. Funny story, I had written this one shot to take place at the end of "The Wish" and then I was going through old reviews and found where I had told someone that Wish didn't happen in the Eyes-verse - that Xander and Cordy broke up at the end of senior year, amiably, and Anya never came to town. So, then I decided I could kill two birds with one stone - I scrapped the first half and wrote this instead. Hope you enjoyed relational counselor Spike :-)


	9. Parting is Such Sorrow

Chapter Notes:

For anyone who wondered when and how, exactly, Angel finally decided to leave Sunnydale in the Eyes universe.

This story combines the time and events of the 3rd season episode "The Zeppo" with elements of "Amends" and takes place shortly after Buffy's 18th birthday.

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Parting is Such Sorrow

God, he hated them. Both of them.

Angel scrubbed a hand over his face roughly. Okay, that wasn't true. He didn't hate them. He loved Buffy, some part of him always would. And even Spike wasn't always so bad. Except for the part where the blond annoyance had completely usurped his position in the Slayer's group.

They had the apocalypse handled? Well, good for them. He'd only been trying to help. There'd been portents. But, no, they had it under control. Giles had managed to seal the beast inside the Hellmouth again and no one had gotten hurt – much. Not even Xander. And they'd done it completely without his help. The only thing Angel had done all night was get rid of some stupid zombies who'd nearly run him over on his way to the school. And that had been more of a rage thing, really. Good thing they'd been zombies, not regular kids.

God, he was useless.

He sank to sit on the bed and buried his face in his hands. If he were completely honest, some of what he was feeling had less to do with Buffy not needing his help tonight, and more to do with the fact that she smelled like _him. _Him being, of course_, Spike. _His scent was on her all the time anymore, but tonight they'd smelled of sex. When did that happen? Because he could almost understand "we're going to die" sex, but the scent hadn't been entirely new. Beneath the scent of fresh bodily fluids there was also a deeper, lingering musk, at least a few days old. He was fairly certain Spike hadn't touched her before last week; the scent of sex always lingered for days, even though showering so it would have been obvious – at least to another vampire. That he could recall, nothing major had happened slay-wise last week. Nothing to warrant this sudden shift in their relationship. But then he remembered it was her birthday. It would be so like Spike to wait until the night she turned eighteen. Poncey romantic. What kind of demon was he anyway? Dru had to have done it wrong.

Not that he was complaining. If Spike was any kind of demon, Buffy would probably be dead right now.

It was just – there really was no place for him here anymore, was there? Buffy's friends had sacred duty assistance covered, and Spike covered everything else. So, Angel had to wonder, what was he even still doing here? Not that he didn't deserve the misery of seeing her happy with someone else –with his grandchilde, no less– but surely he could do more good elsewhere if Buffy didn't need him.

He flopped back on the bed. "Where's Whistler when I need him," he grumbled. The Powers had sent him to Sunnydale. To Buffy. They'd told him he had a purpose. Was that all al lie? They didn't seem to have an issue with Spike taking his place.

"She never needed you, you know."

The voice, coming from beside him, startled him – and not just because he'd killed his sister with him own hands more than two hundred years ago. He opened his eyes to see a perfect likeness of Kathy sitting beside him on the bed. He blinked, stretched out with all his senses, but aside from her visage and the sound of her voice there was nothing. No scent, no body heat – she didn't even leave an indent in the mattress. It was like she was a ghost.

"It's probably for the best," Kathy's likeness continued in a conversational tone. "You'd only hurt her. Like you hurt everyone you love."

Angel flinched, knowing the accusation to be true. What was it Angelus had said? That his family's blood had been the sweetest of all. Not that Liam had held much love for his parents, but Kathy . . . .sweet little Kathy. The guilt built in his chest, threatening to overpower him.

She laughed, a bubbling giggle. "I know that better than anyone, don't I?" She leaned over him, incorporeal hand hovering even with his cheek. "Tell me, my Angel, how did I taste going down? Hmmm? When you murdered me?" Her face twisted and her tone took on a cruel edge. "You destroy everything you touch, Liam. Father was right, you'll never amount to anything. You're nothing but a monster."

"Kathy?" he finally managed to ask, weakly. What was this? Some new torment the gypsy woman had devised for him? Was he not suffering enough for her taste? But, no. Jenny wasn't like that. She'd tried to convince her family to release him from the curse. Not to remove the soul, of course, but to ease the guilt.

"I'm not a part of the curse, Liam." Kathy said primly, her expression quite similar to the disappointed look their mother had given them as children when they'd failed to learn their lessons. "Not the one the gypsies gave you. I'm the curse you gave yourself when you let that whore touch you. Turn you."

"Who are you?" He demanded, trying to quell the guilt that rose within his chest, threatening to choke him. Because, imposter or not, her words were true.

"Why what do you mean, Liam? Don't you recognize your little sister? Or perhaps she's not good enough a reminder. Would you like another?"

The hauntingly familiar face twisted and transformed, morphing into another. This one it took him a moment to recognize – though, to be fair, he hadn't known the man long.

"Daniel?"

"You killed me for poker winnings," the man sneered. "On the eve of my wedding, you sick bastard. A man who does that isn't worth redemption. He doesn't deserve purpose."

The form shifted again to a young woman. He didn't recognize her specifically, but clearly she was from days long past, servant class, he could only imagine she was another of his victims. That seemed to be the theme of this evening.

"You killed me and my son. For no other reason than we were there. You're a monster, Angelus."

Angel choked back a sob. "I'm sorry."

The woman, Margaret, he now recalled, smiled sweetly. "You're sorry? For me? Don't bother. I'm dead. I'm over it." She leaned in close to him. "If you wanna feel sorry for someone, you should feel sorry for yourself. Oh, but I guess you've already got that covered."

"I am sorry . . . for what I've done. What else can I say to you?" he asked. Because he was. God, he was. He'd been a monster in life and in death, but he was trying to make amends. What else could he do?

Another shift and he was faced with Drusilla. "There, there, daddy. I'm not saying these things to hurt you." Her hand traced the air along his cheeks, her expression tender.

"I don't want to make you feel bad," Daniel said.

"I just want to show you who you are."

This new face sent pain lancing through him. "Buffy?"

No, no, not Buffy. She hadn't been one of his victims. He hadn't hurt her. He would never hurt Buffy – she was his salvation.

Except . . . he hadn't saved her, had he? He'd sent her off to face the Master alone. Had stood there looking at her drowned form and _done nothing_. Didn't that amount to the same?

"I read up on you, you know." She shrugged. "Spike said some things. I was curious." She titled her head, eyes going unfocused, almost dream-like. "I think what struck me most was the artistry. There was a business man, you killed his children first and arranged them like they were sleeping. He didn't even know until he bent to kiss their cold cheeks." Her voice was sweet, innocent, strikingly at odds with the scene of horror she painted with her words.

"Buffy," he began to protest weakly, hating to hear those words in her beloved voice.

Her gaze snapped to his, fully alert now. "But you see, that's what makes you different than other beasts. They kill to feed, but you took more kinds of pleasure in it than any creature that walks or crawls."

She seemed pleased, and he couldn't look at her anymore. Couldn't listen to her anymore.

"Oh God!" he turned his face away, but he couldn't block out her voice.

"What was it you told Spike once? It was the artistry that mattered? The breaking? That you wanted them to lose everything before you took their lives?"

"It wasn't me."

"It wasn't?"

He shook his head fiercely against the bed. "A demon isn't a man. I was a man once."

Buffy snorted. "Oh, yes, and what a man you were."

"A drunken, whoring, layabout, and a terrible disappointment to our parents," Margaret accused.

"I was young. I never had a chance to—"

"To die of syphilis? You were a worthless being long before you were _ever_ a monster, my dear Liam"

Angles put his hands to his ears, curling up like a child. He couldn't listen to this, he couldn't remember those things. He wasn't that man anymore. He wasn't. "Stop it! Stop!" he shouted.

When ethereal hands covered his he could almost feel them.

"Shh, I don't want to hurt you," Drusilla cooed softly, the near-whisper somehow penetrating the solid barrier of his palms – maybe because he didn't have a pulse to drown other sound out. And all he could think was that she _should_ want to hurt him. He'd ruined her. Thought her his masterpiece. The nun turned whore. God's voice turned to the devil's. "You have to understand, daddy. Cruelty's the only thing you ever had a talent for."

"That's not true." God, it couldn't be true. He wouldn't _let it be true_.

"You mistake it for a curse, my Angel, but it isn't. It's your destiny. The stars whisper it to me. That my daddy will rise again."

He looked to her in horror and she made a parody of stroking his hair.

"It's the other who is wrong." She shook her head sadly. "My poor William, all broken. Too much man left to be a real monster. You must free him. End him and all that is dear to him, like you did the others. And then you can come home again."

"No—"

Buffy smiled down at him. "You know what you have to do, Angel. "

He shook his head in denial. He didn't like it, but Buffy had chosen Spike. And he was being good to her, being good _for_ her.

"He doesn't deserve me," Buffy said. "Take me from him. Take what you want. Pour all that

frustration and all that guilt into _me_. I'm not a virgin anymore, but slayers are always so . . . tight. And, of course, once it's over the true curse will be gone."

"What?"

She batted her lashes in faux innocence. "Oh, you didn't know?" She leaned close, so close that had she really been there he'd have felt her moist, hot breath on his ear. "One moment of true happiness and you're free. No more soul. No more guilt." The hand that wasn't really there moved to hover over the crotch of his pants. "Let me free you, lover." she whispered.

This, at last, woke him fully. He pushed away, scrambling back until he was sitting up against the wall. "What are you?" he demanded, mind still racing. Was it true? Could he lose his soul? Of God, if that was true . . . he could have hurt Buffy. He could have killed her. And all because of loving her. What kind of twisted, sick joke was this?

"Why are you fighting this? Me? It's what you want. And after . . . think of the peace."

He grabbed his hair. "No. No! I'm not that monster. I won't."

"You won't." She laughed softly. "Then why do you stay?"

That thought brought him up short. Why _did_ he stay? Hadn't he just had that same thought earlier? He wasn't doing any good here, and Buffy didn't need him, or even want him. He should go.

"No, you can't," Buffy told him. She shook her head. "You know that's not the answer. That won't end this. Won't end the longing. Won't end the torment." She moved to straddle him, and even though he knew she wasn't really there, wasn't really _Buffy_, the sight of her there made his groin ache with painful hardness. ""Take me. And then you'll be ready . . . " she leaned in to whisper against his ear sweetly, "to kill me."

"I won't."

"You have to! What else are you good for?"

"Get away from me."

She looked at him knowingly. "Sooner or later, you will drink me."

"I'll never hurt her."

"Don't you mean me?"

"You're not Buffy."

She smiled. "No. I'm—"

The phantom's head jerked toward the door and she froze, intangible hands fisting above his waist. "What? No! That bitch. She found them." She turned her glare down toward him. "This isn't over, lover. You're one of mine. You always will be—" The words ended in an earsplitting shriek as she literally dissolved above him.

Irrationally he reached for her, as though to save the real Buffy. But that wasn't really Buffy, and Buffy didn't need him to save her. Not anymore. Maybe she never had.

The words of the phantom echoed through his head over and over. Was he destined to kill Buffy? Would this desire never fade? Was staying here feeding the monster inside him? Would he snap one day and take her? The man in him was no better than the monster, he knew that.

He shook his head. No. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

That thing, whatever it was, it said his soul could be lost with a moment of true happiness. There had to be a way to prevent that. A way to anchor it. Wracked with guilt as he was at the moment it seemed impossible that he could even have even an instant of true happiness, but he remembered the fledgling thing that had been growing between him and Buffy last year, the way it made him feel. It might have been possible to know happiness with her. And if with her, maybe, someday, with another.

He pushed to his feet, hands scrubbing at the sticky remnants of tears on his face.

He had to leave; he had to find a way to anchor the soul. He'd see the gypsy first, see if she knew anything. And then he'd go.

Maybe after . . . maybe once it was done he could come back. Maybe then he could be near Buffy again, but not before.

Because Angelus was nothing like Spike. His demon was a monster who loved no one. Even with his soul a firm cage, he could sense how Angelus loathed Buffy and the softness she wrought in him. How he ached to fulfill the false slayer's words. To fuck her and feed on her and leave her dead for Will and her friends to find. It made him sick just thinking about it.

That wasn't what he told her, of course. He didn't want anyone to know – well, anyone except the gypsy, she was unavoidable, but she'd given her word not to tell the others. He wondered, if Spike had never come to town, and he and Buffy had continued as they were, would Jenny have told them before it was too late?

Instead he told Buffy that he had a mission from the powers. That he was going to L.A. to help the hopeless, fight evil, make a difference. And she let him. He searched her eyes for any hint of regret or remorse, but there was none. She wouldn't even miss him, he realized. Or, she would miss him, but no more than she would miss an old classmate. And maybe that was worse.

It hurt. It hurt and it made him angry, though he didn't have that right, and it would have been so, so, easy to force himself on her in that moment. To take what he needed before he left to become what she needed. But he couldn't. Because afterwards he wouldn't be this man anymore, would he? He wouldn't want to do the right thing. And he needed to do the right thing.

Maybe this was the real reason Whistler had shown him the little blonde soon-to-be-slayer sitting on the steps of Hemery High. Maybe this was the only way he could find out about the loophole in the curse; the only way he'd believe it possible; the only way he'd be strong enough to do what needed to be done. For love. For her. Maybe this was the catalyst that got him out of his wallowing and into making amends. Maybe this was his redemption.

As he drove out of Sunnydale a gentle snow drifted down around him on the road.

Snow? In sunny So Cal? It had to be a sign. A sign for him?

An odd sort of tranquility settled over him. It was a sign, he decided. Like _It's a Wonderful Life_. A message from the Powers that he mattered and he was on the right path.

"So."

The familiar voice hit him at the same moment as the scent of demon, and he relaxed almost as soon as he'd tensed. Not the phantom.

"Whistler," he intoned, tone edged with irritation – just enough to hide how happy he was to see the messenger from the powers. "Long time no see."

Whistler, sitting beside him in the passenger seat, waved a hand dismissively. "Yeah. There was some, um, heated discussion upstairs when your boy showed up in Sunnydale. We've been on watch and wait."

Angel glanced at him briefly. "What changed?"

Whistler shrugged. "You did. That and your twisted trip through _A Christmas Carol_ the other night. That was the First, by the way."

Angels frowned. "The first what?"

"The First Evil, that's what. And a good thing the Slayer took care of her followers before they finished the summoning. Think of the headgames that thing could have played if it had actually been able to touch you."

They shuddered in unison. Angel had a brief vision of Buffy's body, poised above him, naked and glistening. Below him, writhing in equal parts pain and pleasure as he took her. He shook his head to clear it. Yeah, if that thing had been able to take physical form he might be without a soul at this very moment.

"Speaking of that. Word is you're looking for a way to anchor the soul?"

Angel almost jerked off the road as he turned his head sharply. "What do you know?" he demanded.

"Woah, easy. Eyes on the road, big guy."

When it was clear Whistler wouldn't be able to concentrate until Angel had complied, he turned the bulk of his attention back to driving.

"Tell me," he insisted. "What can the Powers do?"

Whistler shifted uncomfortably. "Well, see, that's part of the problem. The Powers can't do anything. Some mumbo jumbo about the First and the balance between good and evil. They aren't allowed to directly interfere."

Angel growled. "Then why are you here? To tell me it's impossible and make sure I stay well and truly miserable every moment of the rest of forever?"

Whistler shook his head. "You're all so melodramatic," he muttered.

Angel let out another little growl, just to remind the demon he could hear him and he was still waiting.

"Alright, alright." Whistler held his hands out in a gesture of surrender. "I came to help you. Indirectly."

"Indirectly?" Angel prompted through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, sure." Whistler grinned. "Lots of loopholes in this cosmic balance thing, yeah? So long as the Powers don't put their hands in personally we can do all sorts of stuff."

"Whistler," Angel warned.

"Yeah, yeah. The point." Whistler leaned the seat back, settling in comfortably, eyes on the road, hands behind his head. Just as Angel was ready to pull over to the side of the road and throttle the demon he asked casually, "You ever heard of the wishing demon in Africa?"

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Chapter End Notes:

I probably won't do any others with Angel, but this was kind of fun. I didn't originally plan to throw Whistler in at the end, but I'm glad I did. Working on some additional one-shots for this universe. I think I'm going to incorporate Dawn in, but don't worry, she'll be peripheral like most of the non-Spike/Buffy ensemble. Thanks for reading,

reenasas


	10. Truth, Lies, and Family Ties Part I

Chapter Notes:

Because I feel super guilty about missing my BN deadline this weekend - extra prezzie for those who also follow the Eyes-verse!

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Truth, Lies, and Family Ties Part I

Spike tapped his fingers against his thighs in a steady drum beat to match the music in his head. Telly was on, but that was mostly for background noise and with one ear he monitored the two heartbeats upstairs and their accompanying even breathing. Asleep, both of them.

He smiled softly. His Summers girls – Valkyries all three of them. He hoped Joyce's headaches came out alright. Hate to see something happen to her. She was a good woman.

Joyce's headaches were the reason he was in playing babysitter tonight instead of out on patrol with his lady love. Been pretty slow of late anyway, and Buffy was too worried to leave her mom alone, especially since someone'd put it in her head that whatever ailed Joyce was not natural in origin. She'd come home in a dead-panic this afternoon and it was all he could do to convince her that magic was not the answer. She'd been dead set on going into some sort of trance that was supposed to reveal a spell's trace signature. Only his repeated assurances that he'd be able to sense any mojo affecting her mother had stopped her.

She still hadn't been willing to leave Joyce and the Bit in the house alone, and since he had the superior senses he got to stay.

The front door opened, startling him from his thoughts. He started to relax as he realized it was Buffy, but then tensed all over again when he caught the acrid scent of nerves and real fear on her.

"Buffy?"

He rose and went to her as she quietly shut the door.

"God, Luv, what happened to you?"

He assisted her to a chair, fighting the urge to carry her bridal style when he realized she was limping.

"You get in a fight with a Fyarl?"

Actually, he'd seen her fight a Fyarl, and she hadn't come off nearly this bad.

She shook her head, breathing slightly labored, and he jogged to the kitchen for the first aid kit. She was covered in bruises and scrapes.

"Blond chick. Bad perm. Skanky dress," she managed.

Spike frowned as he tore an antiseptic wipe out of its foil packet and wiped tenderly at an abrasion on her forehead.

"Not a demon then?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure she was a demon."

"Glamor?" The only demons Spike knew what looked human and had super-strength were vampires, but no vampire could have done this to Buffy.

Buffy shook her head, more a gesture of helplessness than a denial.

They were silent a few minutes as Spike tried to process what could have possibly done this to the best slayer that ever lived. He'd finished cleaning and bandaging most of her injuries before he spoke again.

"Did you kill it?"

Her hand tightened over his arm. "No."

He swallowed hard. That thing was still out there? He didn't realize his left hand had curled into a tight fist until her soft touch flitted over it.

"It gets worse. She's after Dawnie."

"Bit?" He jerked, startled. Why would anything go after Bit? She was the slayer's sister, yeah, but she kept a fairly low profile. And why just Bit? Buffy had plenty of fragile human friends.

"Mum too?" he asked. Had he been wrong? Had someone laid the mojo on Joyce without him noticing?

Buffy shook her head again. "It's not about me. It's about Dawn. Specifically."

That didn't make any sense and he told her so. The look she gave him was pained, almost torn.

"She's not my sister," Buffy whispered.

"What?"

Buffy swallowed and tugged him toward her. She tried to shuffle to make room for him in the armchair, but with her injuries that was never going to happen. He scooped her up and settled them with her on his lap. Buffy laid her cheek against his chest, her hands fisted in his black T-shirt.

"There was a man . . . a monk. He said— he said they had to hide it, some kind of key thing. And they had to protect it. They needed _me _to protect it. So they made it a person. My sister."

What? He shook his head hoping to clear it, because she couldn't have said what he thought she said. "'M sorry. Can you say that again?"

"She doesn't know what she is. No one knows. No one can know." She pulled back to stare at him with big, serious eyes. "We have to keep her safe, Spike, or people will die."

As if that was the only reason they should keep her safe? She was Buffy's little sister. The nibblet. His Bit. Of course they were gonna keep her safe.

"I remember her," he said, the words sounding hollow as his brain struggled to process the last few seconds. Bit had always been here. He remembered her peeking around the stairwell the first time he'd come to Buffy's house. Her little hand slipping into his in quiet support when they'd come out to Buffy's family and her mom had made such a ruckus. He'd spent hours with her since then. Days. Sometimes with Buffy, sometimes not. Dawn was one of his girls. He loved her.

"The monks did that," Buffy said quietly. "Changed our memories. She's only been here a few months, maybe? But the key is older. Very old. Like, thousands of years. Maybe millions."

Spike decided to ignore that for now in favor of the more pressing problem. "What's the blond bitch want her for?"

Buffy shrugged with effort. "He, uh, didn't get a chance to say." She shuddered and Spike knew the monk was no more. Not surprising. If the bitch had beat Buffy, a normal human was no match, holy man or not. She drew a breath and he felt it against his chest. "Spike, we don't even know what this key does. But that monk was talking about portals and doors, and I'm thinking anything this skank wants to open can't be of the good."

Right. Who knew what the thing wanted to bring through.

Buffy snuggled back into his chest and he held her, stroking her hair softly.

"What are we gonna do?" she asked quietly.

He didn't know how to answer. Protect Dawn, of course, but Buffy already knew that. Dawn was theirs and that didn't change because she was a bit younger –or maybe more than a bit older if he was going to be technical about it– than they'd thought.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "She's still your sister."

"I know."

Right. So they'd protect her. And . . .

"You want me to go with her when you tell her?"

There was a telling silence and he shifted them until he could see the fear and uncertainty in her eyes and she could see the conviction in his.

"You _are_ going to tell her."

Buffy shifted her gaze to the place where her fingertips rested on his chest, and even though he'd made it clear that _wasn't_ a question, she treated it like one. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

He understood the temptation: Bit was young and sometimes it seemed easier to swath her in bubble-wrap and not say the things that would make her worry. But this was different. This wasn't sugar coating the danger, it was withholding the origins of who she was, the very core of her existence.

He drew in a breath and said, cautiously, "Buffy, you can't keep a thing like this a secret. Sooner or later it's gonna out and wouldn't you rather control when it does?"

Buffy shuddered and buried her face in his chest once more. "I know. But, Spike? This will crush her."

He ran his hands over her, a soothing touch. "Won't. Bit's stronger than that. And she'll still have us. We won't let her collapse."

"How?"

"We tell her the truth. All of it. Including how much we love her, will always love her. How important she is in our lives, how hard we're going to work to protect her, and that it has nothing to do with _what_ she was and everything to do with _who_ she is."

Buffy sniffed and gave him a watery smile. "Poet," she accused.

"Guilty. But it doesn't make it any less true."

"You think that will really work? Telling her all that?"

He shrugged. "Can't hurt. Imagine it'll be a lot like you finding out you were the slayer, yeah?"

She grimaced. "Uh, yeah. That actually went very badly."

"Because you didn't have a support system. Bit does."

Buffy studied him, teeth worrying her lower lip. "Do we have to tell her right now?"

He arched a brow. "If be 'right now' you mean 'this instant', then no. Best let her sleep now." He laced their fingers together and gave her a reassuring squeeze. "But tomorrow. We'll do it together, right?"

Buffy drew in a deep breath and released it on a shuddering sigh. "Okay. I guess. What about everyone else? I don't want to put them in danger."

"Already in danger. And if the Bit knows, it won't be long before they all do. Best they be prepared, I think."

Buffy gave a clearly reluctant nod. "Okay. So Dawn first. And then everyone? We can tell them together. All three of us."

"Best fit Mum in there somewhere, yeah?"

Buffy worried her lower lip. "I think I should let Dawn decided that."

He studied her, considering. There was some merit to that, he supposed. Joyce was going through so much else, and she'd never taken news of the supernatural variety well. Still, ancient key or not, Dawn Summers, human girl, was just that: a girl. A decision like this seemed a mite much to drop on her. Still, Buffy'd already conceded on quite a few points tonight.

"We'll see how it goes, yeah?"

Buffy nodded. "Do you mind staying here for a while?"

"Course not. Gotta protect our nibblet, don't we? You want I should set up the cot in the basement?"

Buffy shook her head. "I bought black out curtains when I moved back from the dorms."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Spike was touched. Still, that wasn't the only consideration.

"And if mum or the Bit come in?"

"I have sweatpants you can wear. I think."

He eyed her petite frame. He wasn't a large man by any means, but his girl was barely a slip of a thing.

She rolled her eyes. "They were my dad's," she said. "I took them when we moved. To remember him. I ended up shoving them into the far corner of the closet about the fourth time he bailed on me, I think, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

Poor luv. Could nothing in her life be easy?

He titled her chin up and gave her a soft, lingering kiss. She melted into him, a soft sound of pleasure easing from her throat.

"What was that for?" she asked when at last they broke so she could breathe.

"I love you," he said.

"I love you too."

He smiled, fingers carding gently through her hair. "Bum hand you've been played, Luv. And it never seems to get better no matter how often you draw."

She scrunched her nose. "Is that a poker reference? You know I don't get poker."

He chuckled. "Sorry life treats you so miserably. Wish I could do more to help you."

She wrapped her arms around him. "You do plenty. Trust me. And I have a feeling you'll be doing a whole lot more in the next few months."

"Months? You think mystery skank is going to last that long?"

Buffy stood with a shrug and offered him her hand. He took it and followed her toward the stairs.

"There's always an apocalypse in May, Spike. You know this. And monk mixed with ancient power mixed with crazy strong chick just screams 'end of the world' to me."

He had to give her that one.

"Good thing apocalypse-averting is our specialty, eh Luv?" he teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Buffy arched a brow. "Yeah, well, you tell me if you still feel that way after tomorrow. I'm sensing a lot of high-pitched fits and sullen silences in our future."

She was using that tone – the irritated older sister tone, but Spike could see through it and sensed the very real anxiety lingering. He skipped a step and wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"She's gonna be alright, Luv, I promise."

She slumped into his side. "I know. But . . . I hated finding out I was different. That things were hunting me. And now I have to put that same pressure on her."

"Not your fault, Slayer. And not in it alone. Either of you," he reminded.

Her hand sought his and their fingers twined together. She squeezed. "I know. There's nothing we can't do together."

"Too bloody right." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Even facing down hormonal teenage sisters what used to be balls of mystic energy."

Buffy sighed. "Is it wrong I find the hormonal teen the more terrifying of those two?"

Spike chuckled. "Have to say I agree with you there, pet. On the bright side, she won't feel so left out anymore. Think she's definitely a card-carrying member of the supernatural squad now."

Buffy groaned. "Oh my God."

"What?"

"She's gonna expect to be a Scooby now. I'm never going to have another moment of peace."

Spike arched a brow. "Didn't know you had any of those now."

"Shut u-p," she whined; she rammed him lightly with her shoulder. "You know what I mean."

"I think you're looking forward to it," he said. "A little," he pressed off her skeptical look.

Buffy frowned, but at length conceded. "It is kind nice to know it's not my fault she's involved in all this. Technically."

"Was never your fault, Luv."

"I know."

"Do you?" he wondered aloud.

Buffy turned in his arms, hugging him tightly. "She's gonna be okay, isn't she?"

"Of course she is." He ran his hand gently over her hair, tangling tenderly in the soft locks. "She's gonna be better than okay. She's gonna be fantastic."

Buffy burrowed into his chest with a sigh. "I'm gonna hold you to that."

"Please do," he murmured. It would be alright. It would. He'd make it be alright. Couldn't do a damn for Joyce, but he could sure as hell help the little one. Protect her. Comfort her. Whatever she needed.

"Thank you," Buffy whispered, her weight falling into him as her body went slack against his.

He peered down and realized she was falling asleep on her feet. Poor thing. Hell of a fight she'd had, and all the angst atop it. Now she was coming off the adrenaline high she wasn't going to last long.

"Le's get you to bed, hmm?" he asked. He slid his arms around her knees and shoulders, pulling her up bridal style.

She hummed sleepily against him.

He carried her up the stairs and settled her in bed. It took a bit of work to untangle her fingers from his clothing so that he could go in search of her pajamas and the sweats she'd offered to loan him, but he managed. In two ticks they were changed and lying in her childhood bed together. Stretched out beside her, he let his thumb stroke the back of the hand she'd twined with his.

His sweet girl. He couldn't make all the bad things go away for her, but he sure as hell was gonna try.

"It'll be okay, sweetheart," he murmured to her sleeping form. "It'll be okay."

He'd make it true, he silently vowed. Whatever it took. No one was going to hurt his girls. Not ever. Whoever this skanky bitch was, she was going down.

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Chapter End Notes:

Part II of this will be Dawn's perspective after learning the truth about her existence. It's not fully written yet, but I'll give a shot at finishing it within the next week or two.

Thanks for reading,

reenas-as


	11. Truth, Lies, and Family Ties Part II

_Truth, Lies, and Family Ties Part II_

Stupid, stupid, _stupid!_

Dawn slammed the door behind her and collapsed on the tiny back porch.

God, this was all so stupid. She was stupid.

All the more so because she'd been so excited to come downstairs this morning to find Spike making pancakes in the kitchen. And then, when Buffy had said she didn't have to go to school today the feeling had doubled. She'd thought it was a Scooby thing. She should have known better. As if her sister would ever let her in on a Scooby thing.

Correction. As if the _slayer_ would ever let her in on a Scooby thing. Because Buffy wasn't Dawn's sister. Dawn didn't have a sister. She didn't have any family.

Because she wasn't a person. She was a _thing._

Dawn pulled her knees up and buried her face in them, using her arms to hold herself in a tight little upright bundle.

They hadn't said that, of course. They didn't even look like they _thought_ it. There was a lot of talk about how nothing had changed and they still loved her, but no matter what they thought the truth was still the truth.

She was created. A few months ago. From a mystic ball of ancient energy and Buffy's DNA.

_Why aren't I blond?_ She wondered, fleetingly. Blond was recessive, right? So if they used Buffy's DNA there should only be blond to choose from.

Had they changed that on purpose? So it wouldn't be obvious?

What else did they change? How much of her was Buffy? How much was the Key? How much was an arbitrary decision made by a holy man who would never have to look her in the eye?

How much of her was actually human? Did she even bleed?

Gripped by sudden impulse, Dawn pulled her tiny pocket knife from its hiding place in her shoe and flicked it open.

"Bit hard to slit your wrists with that tiny thing."

She froze at the familiar cockney drawl. She hadn't even heard him come out because, uh, _vampire_. Stealth was, like, his middle name. Which was funny and so strange because most of the time he stood out so much with his white-blond hair and that huge leather jacket and the attitude six times as big as he was. But he could be quiet too. Could melt into the shadows or a crowd.

"Waste of good blood, too," he continued. He sank down beside her on the steps with the casual, careless grace she'd always admired and envied.

If by always she meant for the last four to six weeks, because that was probably all the longer she'd really existed.

God, this sucked.

Spike's hand closed around hers over the knife and flicked the blade gently closed. It was only then it registered what he'd actually said.

She sniffed. "I wasn't trying to kill myself, idiot."

"Good to know. So what were you doing?"

"Do I have blood, Spike?" she asked, earnest.

He blinked down at her. "What sort of question is that? Course you have blood. Human aren't you?"

"Am I?"

"Now who's the idiot? Skinned your knee last week, didn't you? Bled like any other silly girl."

"Oh." That was right. She fell down trying to climb the tree outside Buffy's window. She'd had to wear a band aid for days –one of the big square ones– and it kept getting rubbed off by her jeans.

"Have a soul too, in case you're wondering," he said, casual, as if it wasn't important at all.

She eyed him sideways. "You can sense that?"

"Can."

"Oh."

They sat in silence a few moments and Dawn wondered where Buffy was before deciding she didn't actually care right now. Spike was always easier than Buffy. He said what he meant, meant what he said, and if he wasn't willing to tell her the truth he usually told her so upfront. No answer at all was better than a lie as far as Dawn was concerned.

Which meant he wasn't lying to her now.

"You really think it doesn't matter?" she asked softly.

Spike snorted. "Family is family, Bit. 'S not about where you're born, it's about who you stay with. Who stays with you. And, anyway, made from Buffy aren't you? That's one hundred percent, pure, unadulterated Summers' blood right there. Course you're family. Who cares how you got here."

"But I'm only a few weeks old!"

Spike stretched his legs and leaned back on his elbows. "So's a baby. You don't see people throwing them out on the streets. Well, not mostly."

She rolled her eyes. "That's completely different."

He tilted his head. "How?"

"Because it is. Babies are supposed to be new. I'm supposed to be fourteen."

He sat up and shifted to study her, and she unconsciously mirrored him, squaring them opposite one another.

"Look like a fourteen year old," he said thoughtfully. Abruptly he reached to ruffled her hair and she squealed and batted at him uselessly. His lips quirked. "Act like a fourteen year old."

"Hey!" she protested even as she struggled to smooth her hair. After a second he reached to help her, pale, slim fingers gently detangling the mess they'd made.

"Got all the knowledge and memories a fourteen year old should have," he said quietly.

"But they're not real."

He shrugged. "So what? Look, you know what the books say about vampires, yeah?"

Dawn nodded.

"According to the watcher's books the memories of the first twenty eight years of my life aren't really mine. They belong to someone else. The human who lived before a vampire demon took over this body."

"Okay." She wasn't sure where he was going with this.

Spike dropped his hands to brace on the porch and stared out into the woods a hundred or so yards away. "Don't know if it's true. But I've always figured it didn't much matter. Those memories _feel_ like mine. So what's it matter if they really are or not? Still a part of who I am, what I do, the decisions I make. They're still part of the me that exists right now. Think it's the same with you."

Oh. Huh. She hadn't thought about it like that.

"Can't change what they did, Bit. But you don't have to let it hurt you."

Okay, yeah, he made some good points. Still . . . "How are you okay with this?"

He shrugged. "Because nothing's changed."

She balked at that. "Everything's changed."

"Has it?" He gave her a sidelong look, still facing the woods. "Last week you were already an ancient key made adorable kid-sis, yeah? You went to school, you did your homework, you scribbled in that girly diary of yours and made moon-eyes at Harris."

"Hey!"

He pursed his lips, probably to keep from grinning. He always made fun of her for her crush on Xander, but at least he never did it when anyone else was around. She was pretty sure he hadn't ratted her out either.

"Point is, the only thing that's different today is that you know. That's like saying a kid's whole life should change when they find out how babies are made, or that they're adopted, or that's their middle name is something stuffy like Theodorus. It only makes a difference if you let it."

She wasn't sure it was that simple. It didn't seem like it _should_ be that simple. Only, that was kind of his point, wasn't it? It was a simple as they made it.

She almost asked him one more time. Almost had him confirm that it really didn't matter to him. Only, that was silly, because she already knew it didn't. It was in the way he was sitting beside her like he always did, ruffling her hair, and treating her like an adult and a kid all at once. It was in how comfortable she felt with his shoulder brushing hers and how relaxed he was even sitting out here in broad daylight.

"You're wearing the ring," she realized suddenly. Which, _duh_. He was _outside with her in unfiltered sunlight_, of course he was wearing the ring.

"Uh, yeah. Prob'ly best for now."

Dawn frowned. "She's strong? Whoever's after me? The, uh, the blonde with the bad perm?"

Spike nodded once. "Yeah."

Dawn's hands caught in the hem of her T-shirt, a nervous habit. "But we're gonna be okay, right?"

He met her gaze, eyes solemn, but determined. "We are."

And she believed him. Because Spike was a lousy liar. And because he loved her. Even if she wasn't real.

The back door creaked open in inch. "Is it safe to come out now?"

Dawn laughed and waved her sister over. "You can come out."

"Can call off the suicide-watch, Luv. She seems to be stable now."

Dawn wacked his shoulder with a scowl. "I told you I wasn't trying to slit my wrists, you big dummy."

"Well, that's a relief," Buffy said lightly as she dropped down to sit on Dawn's other side. They had to shift around a little, but they all fit. "Because I'd hate to have to confiscate your pocket knife again. The only reason I let you take that to school is because I know what's out there."

"You had an entire armory at school and you're upset I carry a pocket knife? Talk about a double standard." The familiar banter came easily, which went a long way toward reassuring her that this was not a big deal.

"In big sis's defense, her school was literally built on the mouth of hell."

"It was under the library," Buffy added with a nod.

"I'm aware," Dawn said, tone dy. Memories of hearing similar statements dozens of times over the last few years flooded Dawn's mind, and even though she now knew they weren't real they didn't feel any different from before. Maybe Spike was right, maybe it didn't matter where the memories came from, maybe it only mattered what she did with them.

"I know."

They sat in silence a long time. Or maybe it just felt like a long time. Dawn's brain was kinda overloaded right now. She didn't even really think about anything, just stared into space and let the warm presence on her left and the cool one on her right sooth her.

A car drove by, pulling her from her thoughts and reminding her of something.

"Does mom know?" Their mother was at work, which was the only reason she could get away with skipping school today. She liked to think if mom knew she'd have stayed home, but mom still wasn't comfortable with all this supernatural stuff. Maybe she was upset. Or wigged.

Buffy shook her head. "We were gonna let you decide if you wanted to tell her. I know how ooked she can get about these things."

Spike arched a brow and leaned back to peer at his girlfriend around Dawn. "Ooked, Slayer, really?"

"Shut up, Spike. We're having a serious conversation here."

Dawn ignored them. They were always like this. Mom said it was because they were in love. And as far as telling mom . . . maybe she'd put that decision off for a while. She was mature enough to know she'd have to do it eventually, but after the danger had passed might be better.

"The Scoobies?" she asked.

Buffy sighed. 'Them we kinda of have to tell. We're going to need their help to take down this demon and keeping things from them is dangerous."

Dawn nodded. That made sense.

"You think it'll be okay?"

A shoulder knocked hers on each side. "Well, yeah." "O'course." They spoke simultaneously.

"We already have a slayer, a vampire, two witches, an ex-demon, a stuffy ex chaos warlock, and a demon-magnet." Buffy ticked off the count on her fingers as she spoke. "What's a key compared to all that? The way I see it, none of them have a right to complain. Not that they would," she added hastily. Probably because Spike was giving her the stink eye – or as close as he could manage when looking at "the love of his un-life", which was, by the way, a direct quote. Spike was surprisingly sappy for a tough guy.

Spike wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "'S gonna be fine, pet. Scoobies love you. That isn't going to change."

Dawn turned toward him, head dropping to bury in his shoulder where she nodded. A moment later Buffy's warmth pressed against her back in a sloppy group hug.

"It's gonna be okay, Dawnie," Buffy murmured. The way she said it was a promise that she would make it okay if she had to – whatever it took.

Dawn nodded again as it hit her anew that as far as Spike and Buffy were concerned this really didn't change anything. It wasn't a big deal to them. And if anyone else thought it was, Spike and Buffy would set them straight.

Her entire world had been tilted on its axis, but she wasn't alone. The two most important people in her life were there to support her. That was more than a lot of people had. It was more than Buffy'd had when she became the slayer.

Dawn felt the pinch of guilt as she recalled the envy she'd held for her sister. Was it really just a few weeks ago she'd been complaining that Buffy was spoiled? That being the slayer was some big gift Buffy didn't deserve that she lorded over everyone else? God, how awful. If Buffy had felt even half as confused as Dawn did a few minutes ago there was nothing to envy. Plus, Dawn just had to hide. Buffy had been told she _couldn't_ hide. She had to fight all the bad things. Alone.

Yeah. Dawn felt terrible about how she'd treated Buffy. But then she remembered she hadn't really done that – well, most of it. It was all made up memories from the monks. That made her feel a little better. Like maybe she wasn't so self-centered. Or she didn't have to be anymore. If she was a new person, she could be whatever kind of person she wanted to be. The kind who helped instead of whined and complained. She thought maybe that's what Spike had really been talking about with that comment about his human memories. He kept the parts that made him better and forgot the parts that didn't. And if he could do it, why couldn't she? She could choose who she let her memories –real or otherwise– make her.

She kind of liked that thought.

Dawn took another second to enjoy being held by her family and then took a deep breath and squirmed out from between them. It helped that they let her go as soon as she made the first shift – they were considerably stronger than she was, both of them.

"So," she said, looking between them. "What are we gonna do about this blond skank?"

"We?" Buffy echoed, disapproval already stealing into her mannerisms.

"You can't keep me out of this, Buffy," Dawn said, careful to keep her voice calm and reasonable. "She's after _me_."

"She's got a point, Luv."

Buffy scowled. "I know. But I don't have to like it." She peered down at Dawn like she was thinking very hard. "I don't suppose I can lock you in a safe or ship you to Angel?"

"No!" "Bloody hell, no." Dawn and Spike protested.

Buffy sighed. "I didn't think so." She pouted until Spike finally pushed to his feet and held a hand out to each of them.

"Getting late," he observed. "Should move this party back inside."

Dawn nodded and the two Summers girls reached to take the offered hand up.

"Hey," Dawn paused outside the door as Spike held it for them. "This means I get to go to Scooby meetings now, right?" She couldn't keep the edge of excitement out of her voice.

Over her head Spike and Buffy exchanged glances.

"I suppose it does at that," Spike finally said.

"Whoo hoo!" Dawn yelped, pumping a fist in triumph. She hated that they kept her out of Scooby meetings.

"You just wait," Buffy said behind her. "When you find out how much research is involved in being a Scooby you're totally going to change your tune."

But Dawn wasn't listening anymore. She was too excited. She was a Scooby now. A real Scooby. With a supernatural quirk and everything.

"Now you've done it, Luv," Spike drawled. "Grinning like a madman, she is."

"I give up," Buffy said. "I'll let Giles tell her how boring it is to be a Scooby. He's good at boring."

Dawn's grin widened. Looked like being an ancient dimensional key was going to change her life after all. But that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

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Chapter End Notes:

Wow, so once I started writing this it came much more easily than I'd expected. it must be because I've been spending so much time getting to know Dawn (albeit an older, more mature Dawn) in BN. Hope you enjoyed.

reenas-as


	12. A Day in the Life

Chapter Notes:

Okay - I did it. I'm one of _those_ authors - this story officially ties the Eyes-verse to Breaking Novikov, but only a tiny bit. Mostly, though, it's just fluff.

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A Day in the Life

"You want popcorn?" Buffy shouted from the kitchen of the apartment they'd been sharing for a little over a year now. One would think after dating a vampire for four years, and living with him for one, the girl would remember she didn't need to bloody shout for him to hear her. Ever. Not that it would do any good reminding her.

"We got _Tabasco_?" Spike asked instead.

He could almost hear her roll her eyes. "You live here, so I'm gonna go with 'yes.'"

"Then, yes, I want popcorn."

The microwave hummed to life and a moment later a dull thump against his shoulder blade drew his attention.

He turned and rescued the bottle of hot sauce from its precarious perch on the back of the couch. "Really, Slayer?" he asked, amused.

Buffy stuck out her tongue at him. "Season to taste. No way I'm contaminating the whole batch."

They grinned at one another like lovestruck fools until, with a yelp, Buffy ran back to the microwave. "Four second, four seconds!" she exclaimed, by which Spike assumed she meant that's how long it was now between pops and she needed to rescue their snack before it burned.

By the time she returned with the popcorn, Spike had the movie cued and had retrieved their stash of movie candy from its hiding place. God knew if he left it in the kitchen with the rest of the nosh it'd never survive to movie night. The ice cream he'd bought just last night in anticipation of the occasion was already gone. Buffy wouldn't admit to it, of course – there'd been some drivel about north pole demons with a taste for frozen coffee.

Even her excuses were adorable.

Spike lifted an arm in silent invitation and she snuggled in beside him. The movie began and she snorted.

Spike arched a brow.

"Scooby Doo? Really?"

He shrugged. "Seemed appropriate. Plus, you're _supposed_ to make fun of this sort of movie." Buffy had a right hard time watching anything involving horror or action without critiquing it all the way through and she wasn't much for romcoms. Suspense movies were alright, but mostly she seemed bored whenever they watched one. He'd decided to take a chance on something new.

And it looked like he'd made a good choice if the grin splitting her face was any indication.

Buffy giggled and blindly reached for the box of _Snow Caps_.

Spike smiled in answer and snagged a handful of popcorn, drizzling a generous portion of hot sauce over top.

They were well more than halfway through the movie, snacks eaten and his hands idly tracing patterns on her skin, when the odd sensation hit him. It was brief, and not strictly unpleasant, but it caused him to pull his attention inward for a moment as he instinctively tried to ferret out its source. Felt a bit like cool gel seeping through his brain, filling in the nooks and crannies., and when it finished he felt . . . fuller, maybe? Less alone?

Buffy, no doubt alerted by his sudden stillness, turned to him. "Spike?"

He barely registered the call of his name, and a moment later her hand touched his arm. "Hey, you in there?"

Her tone was tender and a touch concerned, it distracted him entirely from anything but her, and he took a moment to revel in it before he tightened his hold around her shoulders and pressed a reassuring kiss to the crown of her head. Sweet little thing, she was. He didn't think he'd ever get over this –the being loved back– no matter how many decades he had with her. It was glorious.

Buffy relaxed into his touch and he let his fingers tangle in the ends of her hair, stroking softly. Her face turned into his chest and she placed a soft kiss there.

That same odd, seeping sensation from a moment before repeated in reverse and Spike was left feeling strangely alone.

Buffy pushed off his chest lightly to peer up into his face. "Alright, seriously, what's up?"

He shook his head. "It's nothing, luv. Just . . . felt a little off for a moment. Like I wasn't entirely alone in my own head, maybe?"

Buffy relaxed, grinning. "Well, duh, demon."

Spike chuckled. "Right. He musta been upset by the terrible acting in this bloody awful excuse for a flick." Didn't feel like his demon, but it hadn't felt dangerous either, and the sensation had passed. No sense worrying her over it.

"Don't look at me," she protested, "you picked it."

"Did I? Musta been possessed."

That word struck him. He'd been possessed once, back in the mid-thirties. Body-sharing demon. He'd been very drunk when he'd agreed to the experience, which left the memory a little hazy, but now he thought about it the feeling was similar to the one he'd experienced a few moments ago. He remembered being surprised by how easy it was – like another mind slotting through his own, the sudden sensation of not being alone. Of course, that time there'd also been the terrifying knowledge that he was also not in control. He hadn't felt that this time, so maybe he'd not been possessed after all.

"More than usual, you mean?" Buffy asked, skeptical.

Spike shrugged. "Did spend a fair number of years with a woman what heard voices. Maybe some of them jumped ship when she dusted."

Buffy shuddered and smacked his shoulder lightly. "Don't even joke about that."

Spike caught her hand and raised it to his lips for a quick kiss. "Sorry."

"It's okay." She looked back toward the telly. "We finishing this or calling it quits?"

Spike smirked and let his hand drift up under her blouse in a silken caress. "Tempting as that thought is, we've come this far, may as well finish what we started."

Buffy shuddered, this time in pleasure. "Mean," she accused.

"Demon," he whispered in her ear. And then he took the lobe gently in his teeth and sucked.

"Movie!" Buffy yelped, hands pushing to put a modicum of distance between them. "Movie first."

"First?" That sounded promising.

Buffy smiled at him, playful. "Well, yeah. I know you're old, Spike, but even you should know what really goes on in movie theatres."

He tugged her onto his lap. "Mm. Might be. But, as I recall, those things typically happen while the movie's playing. In the dark."

He lapped gently at the flesh where her neck met her shoulder and she gasped.

"'S not dark yet," she protested.

His hand snapped out and turned off the light. "Better?"

She hummed a pleased response as his lips and tongue traced a path up to her jaw and back down. Her hands had settled over his arms around her waist and her rounded nails dug into the skin convulsively – further evidence of her pleasure.

A loud noise from the telly startled them and she whined. "You said finish the movie. I wanna see the end."

Spike sighed. He should have voted quit. Except it'd been pretty obvious she was only offering the option out of courtesy. Girl was enjoying the movie – he might as well let her finish. Wasn't like she wouldn't still be here when it was over. He supposed he could wait another twenty minutes.

"Fine, but stay."

Buffy twisted to favor him with a look of pure skepticism. "In your lap?"

He smiled his best William smile. "I promise to behave until the credits roll."

"Uh huh." Somehow he didn't think she believed him.

"Mostly behave," he amended, and the hand at her waist dipped into the waistband of her jeans by a mere fraction of an inch. The way she twitched one would have thought he'd plunged straight to her pleasure center.

Her fingers found his and entwined with them. "Only if we sit like this."

She wanted to restrict use of his hands? Alright, he could live with that. Twenty minutes feeling her palms touching his, her neck inches away, and her soft bum nestled up to his rapidly un-softening cock? Yeah, there were worse ways to pass the time.

"Alright," he agreed. He could behave for twenty minutes. Of course he could.

"Okay."

Buffy turned her attention back to the telly and Spike turned his to mapping out the familiar lines of her body, planning his assault so that he'd be ready the moment the movie ended.

Suddenly Buffy straightened on his lap, attentive. "Oh," she said.

Spike frowned. "What?" He reached out with his enhanced senses, but couldn't determine what had drawn her attention. There was only the telly playing as it had been all along.

"I have no idea what's happening. Rewind it back to the part where they find out the robot is controlled by the little dog."

Spike started. "What?"

"Rewind it," she repeated. "I missed stuff."

Spike gaped at her. She wanted him to _rewind_? But then it'd be at least forty minutes until the movie was done. He couldn't possibly behave for forty minutes, could he? "What?" he asked again, though the question was pointless. "Why?"

Buffy turned in his lap to pout at him. "I want to see it, Spike."

Spike was powerless against that pout. He always had been. With a groan he leaned forward to meld their mouths together, kissing her deeply. She responded eagerly for a moment and then pulled back with a tiny whine.

"Spike."

"Just to tide me over, kitten," he murmured, lips refusing to leave hers. "Rewind your movie in a tick."

Buffy studied him through narrowed eyes and then nodded.

They kissed again, gently but thoroughly. Buffy was breathless by the time they parted, cheeks flushed.

"Movie," she said, insistent.

Spike smiled. "Right." He thumbed the button on the remote to send the dvd skittering back to the point she'd indicated. He almost missed it when Buffy wriggled on his lap and plucked at his arms.

He slammed the pause button. "What are you doing?"

"Sitting beside you."

He tightened his hold on her and buried his face in her hair. "That wasn't part of the deal, Luv."

She squirmed again. "Yeah, but you seem to be having trouble keeping up your end."

"I'll mind my end if you mind yours." He bucked up against her bum and she squealed.

"Spike!"

He grinned, unrepentant. "Yeah, yeah. I got it." He released her suddenly. "Off with you then."

Buffy stayed seated on his lap, blinking at him. He nudged her with one hand.

"That's it?" she asked looking between him and the empty couch cushion, uncertain.

"That's it." Spike agreed. "You moving or what?"

"Uh. Moving." Buffy slid off his lap and to the far end of the couch, eyes wide.

"What's wrong? You're looking at me like I'm gonna eat you."

Buffy shook her head. "No, it's just . . . really? Just like that?"

"Really," he said.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Why?"

Spike grinned. "Faster this movie is over faster I get what I want." He deliberately trailed his gaze down her form and then conspicuously adjusted himself in his jeans.

"Oh," Buffy breathed, a blush staining her cheeks. "Okay."

Very deliberately she turned back toward the telly and Spike pressed the play button. Every once in a while her eyes strayed to his form before darting back to the screen, and he knew she was thinking about him far more than the movie. Still, he was a good boy and didn't make a move to distract her. He kept his seat in the corner of the couch, arms tucked behind his head, watching her instead of the movie.

And he waited. Even when she bit her lip to stifle a rising moan. Even when her scent started to become saturated with desire and she wriggled her little hips against the couch. Even when her foot stretched across the distance between them to brush against his thigh.

He waited and planned. From the opening brush of his lips against the delicate line of her collar bone, to the final thrust where they tumbled into completion, and every caress in-between. He mapped them all out in his head.

Anticipation really was the best aphrodisiac. And he was going to use it to his full advantage.

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Chapter End Notes:

Did anyone catch the BN connection? It's a little obscure - but this is the event BN-Spike experienced as his first full possession in chapter 9 of BN. I had to do it, I couldn't help myself.

Thanks for reading,

reenas-as


	13. Dreams of Days Never Come

Story Notes: I wrote this _way_ before I finished hashing out where Breaking Novikov was headed, but if you squint at it you could consider it loosely related.

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Dreams of Days Never Come

He was sleeping when the door flew open. Well, sleeping until the banging that preceded the door opening. He popped to his feet as the Slayer stormed in, already on the defensive.

"Should have known it's you. Been nearly six hours."

She scowled at him. "Well, it would've been less if I wasn't busy cleaning up your mess.

"_My_ mess?" He scoffed. "I just _borrowed_ the doc. The mess is yours, Slayer. Yours and the boy's." Wasn't his fault her moronic boy toy hadn't sense enough to save his own life. And what did she expect him to do? Evil, yeah? What made her think he'd jump to help that wanker when he had a chance to get this soddin' chip out?

"I'm done." Buffy pulled a stake from her back pocket and strode toward him.

Really? Some part of him had thought she wouldn't do it. For all she loved to threaten him and kick him around she was too good to kill something that couldn't fight back. It was the very core of her personality. Maybe that last attempt to kill her had finally pushed her over the edge?

Her mouth was set in a firm line and she didn't look happy, or even relieved, just determined. "Spike, you're a killer. And I shoulda done this _years_ ago."

He met her eyes, weighing her sincerity. She meant to go through with it, he could see it. He couldn't find the will to fight back, to run, even to snark. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time this was done, yeah? What had his unlife become? Wired up, worse than harmless, unable to feed, barely able to fight, practically the Slayer's lap dog . . .

Yeah, unlife wasn't worth much anymore, was it?

"You know what? Do it. Bloody just do it."

"What?"

He supposed it wasn't surprising that she was surprised. Was a survivor, him. He didn't care anymore. And he wouldn't let her back out now.

"End. My. Torment." It was a challenge more than a plea. Wouldn't beg for it. "Seeing you, every day, everywhere I go, every time I turn around. Take me . . . out of a world . . . that has you in it!" He hadn't realized that was the crux of the problem until he said it, but now he saw it was utter truth. He couldn't bear the sight of her one more day. Not with the way things were. He yanked his shirt off and lobed it back into the crypt, offering his bare chest as an easy target. "Just kill me!"

Buffy stared at him, unaccountably torn. It only lasted a moment; then she raised her stake and lunged. Despite himself he winced, anticipating the blow.

It never came.

They stared at each other, unmoving, for moments that stretched to eternity and back.

She hadn't staked him. Why?

And, God, what was this feeling rushing through him? More than relief, beyond gratitude, mixed with a generous helping of hope that he didn't understand. What he did understand was that she was gorgeous, and here, and she hadn't staked him so she must not hate him as she'd said, and suddenly that meant _everything_.

She didn't hate him and he didn't hate her. So what then?

The realization hit him hard and he reached to grab her by the upper arms, pulling her in for a passionate, mind-blowing kiss.

Fine line, yeah? So many similar reactions, physical and mental. Easy enough to get them confused, especially when what you felt wasn't what you were meant to.

She pulled back with a little noise of dismay, hand coming up to her mouth, eyes too wide for her delicate face. But she was panting, just as he was. She wasn't running and the stake was gone.

He waited, tense with anticipation. Did she see it too? Had she figured it out?

She closed the distance between them in two quick steps and reached for him, arms wrapped around the back of his head, pulling him down for another heated kiss. His hands rose to clutch at her back, as if to assure himself she was really there, lips drifting from her lips to her check to the side of her neck.

It was glorious. She was glorious. And . . .

"Spike," she panted, eyes to the ceiling, hands in his hair. "I want you"

"Buffy, I love you."

She froze and he pulled back to look in her eyes as he said it again, pouring all the intensity of his newly recognized feelings into the words, finger stroking her cheek longingly.

"God, I love you so much."

He awoke with a sudden start in his own bed, pushed up on his elbows, panting against the panicked despair rising in his dead chest. All he could see was the look of utter horror on his lover's face as he confessed his love for her.

"No, God no."

His quiet exclamation stirred movement in the slender body tucked against his own and he stilled – hoping he hadn't woken her. She settled back into sleep with a tiny sigh, her breathing returning to the heavy, even pace of deep sleep. He waited a moment and then turned carefully on his side to watch her. It took everything he had not to reach out and touch her, to make sure she was real. To chase away the dream

It had felt so real, which confused him because no part of it had any basis in the reality he knew. He frowned as he tried to remember the details of the dream. They'd been fighting, though they'd only made vague allusions to the source of the conflict. He thought it had something to do with that army wanker – Finn, was it? The one what kept popping up all last year. Useless git, that one, a passing face in a sea of faces that was his long life, hardly worth remembering except that he'd helped them run the government gits out of town . . . eventually. But in the dream he'd been a much more integral part of their lives. He thought Finn and Buffy had been together in the dream world.

What kind of background story was that? His girl with the overgrown boyscout? Ridiculous. As if a boy like that could give her what she needed. As though she'd ever have need to try.

Still, in the dream he'd known it for fact. Just as he'd known that the love he felt for Buffy was unrequited. She'd wanted him, but that was all.

The thought left him cold.

Buffy breathed deeply beside him, snuggling deeper into his body, and warmth replaced the chill.

It was just a dream. Buffy _did_ love him. She was his as he was hers, for however long her life lasted.

She stirred in earnest and he realized that at some point he'd begun stroking her hair. She rolled to face him with green eyes blinking blearily into his.

"Spike?"

He removed his hand with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, luv, didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep," he encouraged.

She stared at him, gaze too knowing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

She said nothing, only continued to stare into his eyes, and he sighed. Ponce. He looked away, but the apartment wall offered neither solace nor answers and his gaze returned to hers. "Had a dream is all."

"Tell me?" She propped herself up on one elbow, her other arm moving to lay across his waist.

He relished the warmth of her touch, took strength from it.

"Well, started off with us arguin' 'bout something or other. Not sure what, but I think it had something to do with the supped up soldier what helped us take down those army gits last spring." He shook his head, unable to pin it down more precisely and uncertain why he felt he needed to. "But, yeah, we were arguing."

She grinned, saucy little thing that she was. "Us, arguing? Who'd a thunk?"

"Quiet you."

She gave a one shouldered shrug. "I'm just saying, you weren't nearly as pushy and annoying before we got together."

God, but she was perfect. Knew just what he needed to pull him back to reality, didn't she? Without ever saying a word about the problem she'd solved it completely.

He imitated her nonchalance. "Din't have the girl yet, did I? Had to be on my best behavior."

She arched a brow. "That was your best behavior?"

"Shut your gob." He snapped his teeth at her playfully and she laughed. "You wanna hear the rest or not?" It seemed less important now, but he'd still like to tell her. Get it all off his chest.

She settled down. "I'm listening."

He nodded. "Right. So, we were arguing and then I kissed you. You said you wanted me and I said I loved you and . . ." He paused because even if all he had was hers, or maybe because all he had was hers, it was hard to admit this last bit. "It felt like the first time I'd said it and somehow I knew that you wouldn't say it back and when I woke up I was so relieved that I had you. That you do love me."

She smiled tenderly, the hand at his waist sweeping upward to frame his jaw. "I do, you know."

"I know." He smiled back because he did. He knew it down to his bones. Buffy loved him. Had done for a long time now.

"So what do you think the dream was about then?" she asked, head titled in curiosity. "They're just your brain processing stuff, filing memories, right? So something had to trigger it. I mean, my psych teacher was a mad scientist who almost took out the town on accident, but I think she at least got that much right. It was in the book. So what do you think it was?"

He shrugged. "Dunno."

She studied him critically. "You sure? I didn't do anything to make you, um, worry, did I?"

The sincere concern in her eyes was too much. He clasped her arms lightly, rolling them so she was beneath him and his weight rested on his arms. "God, no, sweetheart. Never." He leaned down to kiss her gently.

"Never?" she asked the moment he shifted his lips from hers to allow her to breath. Her hands stroked the back of his neck tenderly. "I know we tease and we argue, but I do love you. Always and forever."

"To the end of the world," he murmured against the soft skin under her jaw. "Even if that happens to be today."

"And even if I live a hundred years," she added softly.

He peered up into her beautiful green gaze. "Say it again."

She smiled. "I love you."

He shuddered right down to his toes. "Again?"

"I love you. Every part of you. Forever." Her fingers stroked in time with her words, a potent argument. She twisted to kiss the top of his head. "I love you. I love you. _I love you_."

The last ended on a gasp as he slid his hand down to her center.

"I _know_," he promised her.

The rest of the conversation continued without words.

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Chapter End Notes:

So, this wasn't meant to be part of the BN world - I already done did that once - but I suppose it could be. Obviously it's not a glimpse into the BN world, but it could be viewed as a temporal disturbance. Or a dream from the Powers. Or Spike's natural tendency to beat up on himself and not believe anyone can love him. Your choice. Thanks for reading!

reenas-as


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